


Even As Ghosts

by danceofdragons



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Bar fights, Book: Darkness On the Edge of Town, Character building, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Family, Fluff and Angst, Gay Character, Jim Hopper's Past, Karaoke, New Police Hire, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Police Uniforms, Sexual Tension, Size Kink, Slow Burn, Triggers, charlie has a past, daddy kink down the line, dark secrets, it's gonna get kinky, lady cops are badass, literally the slowest burn thats ever burned, past history, small town
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2020-07-25 15:38:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20028214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceofdragons/pseuds/danceofdragons
Summary: Chief Hopper has been to hell and back again the past few years, and while Hawkins is good for the steady pace and peace he needs from one day to the next, it's never truly been enough for him. He never really came home. One Tuesday however, things begin to change when an out of towner becomes the new hire at the Hawkins Police Department.





	1. Pine & Cooper

**Author's Note:**

> First: This is and will remain an AU. A hard, hard AU. Set shortly before season 1, it's a story that will focus on Jim and dealing with his past while meeting a certain new someone that comes into his life and shakes ALL the things up. 
> 
> Second: This will be insanely NSFW down the line (all those tags will be added as they happen IN the fic, to avoid the classic bait and switch!). I'm a cursed smut writer who MUST have plot and so a story needs to be told and developed before the red light specials go down. I lovingly ask for patience :*
> 
> Third: I tried – truly – to weave this fic plot into the S1-S3 current events but it just wouldn't work. I'm not saying I'm ruling out Demogorgons or Eleven down the line, but for now, see the first bullet point! 
> 
> More after the chapter!

Hawkins, Indiana was notoriously quiet, which was exactly how the Chief of Police – a near middle-aged man James Hopper – preferred it to be. A small town with a small community that prided itself on slow living and safety in its own familiarity. 

At the end of the day, his cozy, quiet home was all simple problems and trivial matters that did well to keep Hopper employed and the lights on at the Police station. But the Sheriff’s past was an entirely different beast in comparison to the still waters of current; back in Brooklyn, New York, he kept up the life of a married detective during one of the city’s darkest hours. Literally. 

The Phantom Blackout that roared in and swept through the Big Apple had plunged the city into a eve of darkness from a truth too extreme to be believed. Even still, so many year after. 

Not that he ever talked of those times. With anyone. 

No, those memories and every beat of the life he lived (and lost) during that period were far behind him now – or at the very least he convinced himself they were.

Still, over the past few years Jim had gone to great lengths to keep his day to day as cordial and even-keeled as possible. And for the most part, the fine folks of Hawkins did their civic duty and maintained an admirable routine of peace and order. 

Occasionally there’d be a fender-bender or a call-out to dismantle a minor domestic dispute; oftentimes the situation would end with the Chief ushering a fellow acquaintance away from the scene in the backseat of his Blazer. 

An irate, rude acquaintance that he’d then ceremoniously toss into the station’s piss-poor excuse of a holding cell. There they would spend the next few hours in the aptly-named 'drunk tank' and ride out the haze before the same old song and dance would begin to dawn. 

Remorse, resignation, resolve. Always the same pattern and always the same people. At least there was that much he could anticipate; he knew precisely which problematic folks he would have every other full moon, but even knowing that, it never stopped him from voicing his opinions on their idiotic behavior. 

_‘Why create waves so far from the ocean?’_

As a general rule of thumb, Hopper believed in those words and would repeat them ad nauseam while attending infrequent-yet-inconvenient town hall meetings. These useless gatherings – held usually at night and rudely wasted up to an hour or two of his drinking and couch time – regarded his citizens' most mundane issues. Stolen stop signs or a rare new business that apparently– “had come in and shook everythin' up, Chief!” –were the norm at these tiresome public chats.

Changes in this nowhere place always resulted in riling everyone to the point of fussiness and complaint, even matters of a minuscule nature. Especially the minuscule kind. 

Sometimes, not every time, but sometimes that one-liner worked just well enough to appease the crowd. Until the next forum where this or that popped up and he had to drag it out of the depths again. Which was a…familiar nuisance. 

Jim Hopper was not one for inspirational speeches or words of wisdom. In truth, he was a man of so few words, no one in the town really knew all that much about him. He liked it that way, and they did, too. He stood guard, put out the proverbial fires and went about his affairs quietly. No fuss, no muss. 

And since there existed no “big city” issues to contend with, and no wild stranger-folk or animals worth wrangling, most of the Chief’s on-duty hours were spent sat behind a battered pine desk, his feet up, cigarette lit, and coffee dreadfully chilled.

Today was shaping up to be no different. 

It was a Tuesday, nearly half past ten in the morning, and Hopper sat languidly, the chair beneath his bulk squealing with every minute move. He wasn’t heavy but he was a big man and the seat had seen better days. Still, it was worn and damn near molded to his physique so the noises never bothered him. He’d actually made use of the pesky metal whining to his advantage some days, irritating any irritating locals to see them hurried out the same way they came in. 

_‘Everything’s fine, Mrs Hokum. Your bird seed isn’t driving the finches away from the bird bath, trust me. They don't hate you for your seed choice.’_

Hopper sighed audibly as a flash memory from last week’s avian trouble returned; his head shook from one side to the next at how ludicrous it could all really be here. Charming, but downright silly every once and a while. 

Jim’s brief thought-trip to Tiny Town Lane was short-lived, however; his focus was broken by a pointedly-direct shout that emanated from the other half of the office, “Check the list, Hop. Interviewee today at noon. Charlie Cooper.”

The Chief repeated his sounds of audible displeasure before his whole-body shifted to the left, a crisp sheet of paper found...exactly where it always was. 

His daily to-do list was purposely taped to the keys of an aged typewriter; noteworthy items were highlighted in a bold yellow, overnight reports – if any – came after that, and then placed off to the side was a small stack of general forms that required his signature. These were collated, flagged and set about just-so that it made his life all the more easier. 

This was part of their ritual each and every morning; paperwork and loosely scheduled tasks drawn up and posted by the most darling of women, the station’s long-time secretary and Jim’s personal keeper, Florence.

“Thanks, Flo.” 

“Mmhm. I can sit in the interview if you’d like, Hop. Just let me know.” 

He looked up at that, pinched his brow and leaned off to the side of his desk as though he could look right at her in utter bewilderment. “Um, why?” 

Having heard his confused reply, Flo rose from her chair – her _quiet_ chair, he noted – and trekked the thirty or so feet to his office entranceway. “Well, since you’ve been here, there’s only one hire on record and while the budget for a new officer isn’t exactly at peak, I think the town could do with some new blood. Callahan and Powell are on the same hours as you and I, and I think a...small addition – like say a second shift – might benefit some of the more worrisome folks around these parts.” 

Hopper stared and nodded while he silently processed her rhetoric. Still fatigued from a night of booze and shitty late-night tv, Jim wanted to push back against Flo’s odd air of insistence but didn’t have the fire for it. Never really did these days, and dammit, the woman knew it.

His curiosity piqued, Hopper pressed his spine to the chair backing, crossed his arms over his chest and exhaled a long spell. “Do we know this Charlie Cooper? I mean...I suppose we could use another cop to roam the dangerous, bloodied streets of Hawkins." He sighed her, long and loud as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Alright, I trust your gut, Flo. Though, I’m fairly confident I can handle the interview. Just send him in when he gets here.” 

Florence smirked and fought a smile before she mimicked his rigid posture; the secretary nearly rolled her eyes at what felt like a seemingly endless well of sarcasm from him...in select conversations. Jim Hopper was a serious man, but that came with bitingly dry humor on occasion. Humor she was more than capable of handling. 

“I’m just thinking it could do Hawkins a lot of good, that’s all. I’ll send Charlie in when it’s time.” 

Without waiting for Jim to reply, Flo exited the doorway and returned to her desk, where she resumed her work as though she had put a toddler in his place for speaking out of turn. 

“Noon, Hop. Don’t forget.” 

Hopper half-rolled his eyes and then proceeded to write in big, bold letters – **12:00 = CHARLIE COOPER** – across his legal pad as a reminder. 

For the next hour and a half, he decided to sift through pages of reports and general forms in an effort to get his list done early. A show of good faith, as it were. It’d ultimately make Flo happy and when Flo was happy, everything in the office remained status quo. 

†

By eleven forty-seven, Jim had completed his assignments and drank half a pot of coffee all on his own. Not to mention the four stubbed-out cigarettes in his once-tidy ashtray and the two donuts he inhaled in tandem. When Hopper had to push paperwork, his vices were the only things that saw him through and he held nothing back when it came to his go-to’s. 

It was no secret that the Big City Detective Turned Chief of Small Town Police preferred being out on calls and in the field over paper reams and ink stains any damn day. As it were, there merely wasn’t enough activity to satiate that side of him and so these unhealthy habits filled the gaps as much as they were able to. 

Flo tried to curtail those as well, though not as successfully as she liked. The man smoked too much, drank too often and slept too little, but she did what she could where she could. 

Perhaps this new hire might do better… 

Jim appeared by the side of the administrators desk, folder widened and complete with all the necessary signatures and typed reports. It was then Hopper noticed a young woman sitting next to Flo’s designated work area; she was petite, bright-eyed and way too pretty to be in the middle of nowhere, Indiana. 

Hopper looked at her longer than he reasonably should have, marrying the professional appearance to the striking features she possessed. The dark-haired, caramel-eyed girl sat with her trim legs crossed and steady hands clasped together over rested, slender knees. It was a tight posture but not altogether unapproachable. 

He caught himself in a stare and looked away promptly; Jim nodded politely then and swallowed a nervous breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. After the awkward redirect of his line of sight, he placed the files into the proper bin and peeked at the giant analog clock above the stations front door.

“Well I’ll be! You got this done early. Thanks, Hopper. I’ll take care of these right after I get back from lunch. Anything specific you’d like today?” 

“Uh, no, yes…wait. Flo, is Cooper here yet?” 

The woman he’d been eyeballing stood at that, smoothed her form-fitted ebony blazer and extended her hand out towards him. 

“Hey, Chief, I’m Charlie Cooper. It’s great to meet you.”


	2. Tie-Dye & Blue Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hopper gets bested by Flo and then interviews Charlie for the job, learning a few things along the way...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Stranger fans! I wanted to thank the folks who have taken a peek at this so far – I KNOW it's hard to see "OFC" as a tag and actively click/read a fic, trust me. I'll be the first to admit that when I see that tag, I almost always go elsewhere. BUT I didn't want to write another Hopper/You story – not that those aren't great and saucy, they most assuredly are – but rather wanted to give a full, meaty story. Where I can develop the characters from a preordained start and go from there. And that's how Charlie was born. I promise, she's chill and perfect for Hopper and will definitely have the [daddy] kink that we all know and love in this fandom. ;)

Hopper smiled at Charlie’s eager introduction as he wrapped his hand around her own; the tactile sensation of this woman’s grip read as equal parts sure and confident, but not overtly dominant. Cooper didn’t exude any sort of overcompensating power but rather, seemed to be nothing more than who she was. For Hopper, this instantly opened the door to a much deeper level of impressiveness, despite the fact that he had only just met her. 

He liked that. He liked _Charlie_ already, but this feeling was the type of heartstring he immediately saved for later; the assessment of her first impression was put aside for the time being, but with every intention that he’d pull it apart at some point that evening. In the comfort of his home. 

Sometime much, much later than right now. 

Hopper was about to free his grip and direct the young interviewee so that they could begin the meeting – early, he noted – when Charlie pulled him towards her person. The movement was slight but her brazen assertiveness worked and Jim felt the air crystallize inside of his lungs. His breath now entombed, he felt as if he were caught out in the open by a winter snowstorm that dropped in and wouldn’t quit. 

She spent no additional time on his sudden silence as she saved him from the storm without pause or concern, “I’ve heard quite a lot about you, Chief. Looking forward to getting to know you more...well, hopefully I get the chance to, anyway.” 

He regained control and knew then that the situation needed to be controlled before any of his fellow staff, or this new cop, could see right through him. Which he suspected they already had done. 

James Hopper was not a transparent man by any stretch of the imagination, and no self-possessed, confident, gorgeous police officer with the prettiest scent could crack the surface, let alone shake the core. Not today, not ever again. 

Life was a series of developments and with it came change; some of these changes were good, some were bad, but they were always different and Charlie Cooper was not an exception to the rule. She was just another change, just another development. 

Jim mirrored her motion and brought Cooper in an inch or so; his voice grew deeper but the ocean-blue eyes remained firmly focused, “Well, good to meet you, Cooper. I’m Chief around these sleepy hills – Jim Hopper, but you seem to know that much already. How’s about we get this interview going, yeah? Help yourself to a seat in my office and I’ll join you in a minute.”

In one quick action, Hopper released his hold and angled away from her, his body pivoted so that he was no longer in Charlie’s forward path. Cooper’s eyebrows raised, her head nodded and then the girl started on without another word, fearful that she might have overstepped her place already. 

_‘That would be like me, wouldn’t it? If only he knew...'_

Jim watched out of the corner of his eyes as Charlie passed him and despite every effort, his spine went rigid as an argument between professionalism and unabashed, ill-timed attraction gnawed at the frozen walls within his chest. 

Not to mention the fact that her short, petite stature became abundantly obvious during their brief, albeit unusually close, introduction. 

He liked that about Charlie, too.

Once he saw her go around the bend headed towards his office door, Hopper turned his attention onto the playful snickers and exaggerated coughs that originated from Callahan and Powell’s stations. Jim sighed loudly enough so that _they_ could hear but not Charlie – his annoyance palpable but not all that alarming. 

For the Chief, however, the main person of intrigue was the duplicitous secretary that headed up his affairs. Two moody blues set their hardened gaze on Flo as he painstakingly lowered his torso; he went on until each of his palms pressed firmly onto the top of her files, stare dreadfully unbroken. The intensity of his act was such that the cheap, warped wood creaked and protested against his weight – but Hopper paid no mind to that.

“You could have mentioned that Cooper was a woman, Flo. At any point in our conversation today, I think that could have been a fact shared with me.”

The secretary shrugged in feigned innocence as she mocked a state of utter and complete shock, “Why, whatever gave you the idea that I would even know that?” 

Hopper’s browline pulled north as the World’s Best Secretary bat her lashes and handed him Cooper’s dossier. He stood up, grabbed the manilla folder without looking at it and smacked his lips in a ballsy smirk, “Thank you. That said, I might make note of how you withheld all background information until _this_ very moment, knowing fully well I’d have discovered Charlie was a she instead of a he, but–what’s more interesting to me is how Cooper seems to know _you,_ Florence. So, shall I ask about that now or in there with her? Hmm?” 

Flo rolled her eyes in a dramatic fashion and let the game of Who Has the Upper-Hand come to an abrupt halt; sometimes Hop revealed those big-city Detective roots and sometimes it was about as fun as a deflated kickball – which is to say, fun-less. Absolutely no fun at all.

“You really know how to bleach the tie-dye, doncha, Chief?”

Powell lobbed the insult from across the room and the small station erupted in a lazy sort of laughter. The kind that _could_ get offensive but typically died off before it reached that critical precipice. Still, Hopper didn’t enjoy that all the attention was targeted onto him and for the second time in what felt like as many minutes, knew he needed to retake the hill. 

Jim was bested before that could happen though. Again. 

Florence sighed and pushed her glasses down a pinch against her weathered nose, “Alright, alright, quiet down everyone. And Hop, you’re right...fair is fair.”

She pointed at the folder that rested on his chest and, “Charlie Cooper. 27 Years old. Worked in Philly PD for approximately 4 and one-quarter years until resigning suddenly at the end of last month. Has family in Hawkins – me, her Aunt – and one roommate, Gwen – my youngest daughter. She’s got minimal complaints filed against her, mostly male perps accusing her of being unfit for the job, add to that a stellar arrest record. Few scraps with other officers, again, men, a patrol car accident here and there but nothing that stands or acts as a red flag. Hire her, she’s good, and she’ll get the job done.” 

Callahan applauded...and then stopped as soon as he accidentally let squeal a chortle; the weight of Jim Hopper’s vicious deadpan seared a hole straight through the center of his head – do not pass go and shut right the hell up, idiot. Still, “Sorry, Chief, but even you have to admit it’s funny when you’ve been masterfully plotted against...and the trick actually worked!” 

Hopper shifted around to face his darling Flo again – a precision move to purposely ignore the ongoing noise from his obnoxious staff – and pursed his lips, “Thank you, that’s all I needed. See, was that so hard? Gonna go and start the meeting now.” 

“You do that, Hop. I’ll start processing her paperwork and get her into the system.” 

Hop tipped the brim of his worn hat with the edge of Cooper’s file and winked as he exited Flo’s area. Regardless of the fact that his employees were pains in the ass, they always were a rather comedic, confident bunch, and for those reasons alone, Jim never felt fully had.

Once inside his office, Hopper rounded the desk and sat in his squeaky, clanking-old chair, the folder slapped down in front of him in a careless manner. He leaned back, placed his battered and worn hat on top of the typewriter and crossed his arms above his head. Each of his fingers intertwined with the other and he paused to stretch his neck and gather his train of thought. Altogether, the effort to avoid any eye contact and _look at her again_ had gone well so far. 

A sigh filled the space between them as he broke the awkward reverie; he leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desktop in an authoritative, but welcoming, manner. 

“Thanks for your patience. Your...Aunt sure is something else, isn’t she?” 

Charlie looked across the cluttered, cigarette-scented tabletop and gave her best, toothy smile, “She is, she really is. But she means well.” 

“Mmmhm, that she does.” Hopper inhaled a measurable breath before, “Alright Cooper, I’ve been given the rundown of your history at Philly PD, but I’d like the full story from you. Why resign out of the blue? What cause did you give? How did your superiors react?” 

Charlie had anticipated the Chief of her potential placement would start with the most obvious – and cutting – parts of her history as an officer of the law, but his tone was more curious than accusatory. That settled her nerves *just enough* but it was all she needed for her to get through the story as clinically as she could make it.

“Well, sir, it’s 1982 and I’m confident you’re more than a little aware of the...issues women face when it comes to male-dominated workplaces. I won’t go into extensive detail on that or the professional situations I’m alluding to in the effort to spare your time. But I can say that after four-plus years of one problem or the other in regards to my working relationships in and out of Philly bullpens – the 15th and 18th precincts to be precise – I had to get ou-had to find a better work environment. My superiors were… Well, to be perfectly honest Chief, they were relieved when I put my notice in. Two weeks later, I packed up my apartment and headed west to Hawkins, Indiana. And here I sit, interviewing with you.”

Jim looked on as Charlie visibly shrank into her chair the more she talked about her background with Philly. Her physical response was disassociated to what her words were trying to convey and his inner notation of that is what made Hopper the Chief of Police. He sensed almost immediately – even before the talking had begun – that she was being purposefully withholding. 

He wouldn’t, and legally couldn't, enforce her to share whatever it was that lived only between the lines for now, but it was another point of curiosity he wanted to mull over at a different time.

“Okay, so Philadelphia wasn’t the hub for you, but the job IS. Flo informed me about your stellar arrest record and minimal complaints and so beyond all that, is there anything you’d like to add or share? Maybe why come to Hawkins, PD – aside from family being here?” 

Hopper hadn’t accused her of nepotism, or favoritism, but rather seemed to genuinely want to know why this place of all places. With a record like hers, she could have presumably gone anywhere and yet...Small Town, USA called to her? 

Charlie bit her bottom lip and closed her warm, chestnut-brown eyes at his question. She _also_ predicted he might pitch this, what with everything Flo had mentioned about him on the evening walks she and her Aunt would take. Cooper and Flo had met everyday after Flo’s shift to ‘walk and talk.’ It helped Charlie work through her recent life-tussles and Flo loved the company of a niece she hadn’t spent all that much time with. 

The young woman pondered still, knowing she had already taken too long to answer. Regardless, how do you tell a man you just met that you...admire him and his work ethic. That you want to be a cop and care for strangers like he does, no matter how curmudgeonly his outward attitude may be. 

Cooper opened her eyes and smiled to herself knowing precisely where she was; a real appreciation for this man was alive and well within the confines of her own psyche, and it thrilled her to think that she could very well be working for him in a short matter of time. 

“...Cooper?” 

She arrived back to herself, shook the starry meanderings and cleared her throat, “Honestly, Chief, I want an abundance of small-town living, with kind folks bitching about stop signs and teenagers’ loud music. Not sexual harassment, or worse. Not the hardened, ruthlessness that lived in the back alleys of that Godforsaken city. I don’t want that anymore, not there, not anywhere. I want peace but I want to protect that peace, too. I want to do what you do.” 

Hopper nodded as a warm smile opened up his typically reserved features. 

“Well, Officer Cooper, welcome to Hawkins, PD.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed! More to come soon... xo


	3. Burt & The 'Kins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hopper introduces Charlie to the staff and, unbeknownst to his current officers, shakes up some schedules in the process. Charlie heads out to lunch with Flo after the station meet and greet, and revels in the bliss of small town living and her new life before going to the tailors for her blues...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of character building going on still! Charlie is brazen and a go-getter but there's...more to her, too. And Hopper, well, Hopper is still perfectly Hopper...

Charlie’s features erupted with the biggest, brightest – and prettiest – smile Hop had ever seen. It filled his insides with a flash of something he hadn’t felt in too long a time; not quite nervous from it, but not entirely settled either. He could do nothing but grin and silently nod as a reply. 

She stood up and, having used his reaction as a prompt, thrusted a hand out towards her new superior, “You won’t be disappointed, Chief. I’m thrilled. When can I start?” 

He laughed audibly at the second show of brazenness from her today as he rose from his ancient seat, poise now mirrored to that of her own from the opposite side of his desk. 

“Well, we gotta get you a uniform – or rather sized for one, I’d think. I’ll have you link up with Flo and visit the local tailor, Burt’s, but in the meantime I’ll get your badge made and service weapon registered. There’s paperwork you’ll need to complete after all of this, but I’d wager most of that is likely done by now anyway.” 

He looked beyond Charlie’s shoulder to the hallway and she knew immediately what he meant by the targeted, albeit humorous, glance. She appreciated that Hop’s words were encouraging versus any criticizing her for having family in the Hawkins, PD. 

She liked him already, of that there was no denying. But she planned on walking the straight and narrow in his town so her priorities had little to do with who liked whom these days. Not that Hopper had given inclination of feeling any sort of way towards her other than professional. 

Frivolous thoughts aside, Coop realized that one of her priorities remained unanswered.

“So...when am I starting?” 

Hopper tilted his head and smiled again at her, his teeth exposed as the small creases on the outskirts of his eyes scrunched and pulled together in the most endearing of ways. It was a genuine smile.

_‘Handsome, oh hell, is he handsome.’_ Charlie looked away for a spell, her gaze set on the Hawkins city limits and population map. It was outdated, but the town size likely hadn’t grown by all that much. Well, aside from her being a plus one. 

His deep, commanding voice brought her back to the here and now. Priorities, right. 

“Let’s say, tentatively, Monday next week. You’ll be starting on second shift though, with Callahan and Powell switching on and off every other week. This means you’ll share a patrol car and the hours will be from 2-10 PM, instead of the typical 4-midnight. Hawkins doesn’t warrant or need round the clock patrol. For today though, you and Flo should get over to Burt’s. Get fitted for the blues and I’ll be here, seeing to the rest.” 

Charlie smirked and bobbed her head, the young cop feeling battered as she stifled the permanent smile that so desired to live on her face; she desperately needed this win after the last few months of dismal days; weeks spent fraught with doubt, uncertainty and a league of other problems she hadn’t dared to delve into during their interview. 

Maybe one day. 

“Sounds great, Chief. I’ll track down Flo and get right on that uniform fitting. Thanks so much for this opportunity, again. Looking forward to working with you.” 

Hop released her hand – only after he realized he was still holding onto it – and stepped out from around his paper-strewn desk. He paused and remembered: his hat. He leaned over, his body bent nearly in half, and angled an arm outward to retrieve said hat from off of the typewriter. 

A grunt of exertion escaped from the depths of him but Jim opted to ignore it. Once uprighted, he couldn’t say the same for Charlie; she had obviously noticed his involuntary sound and the side of her lip lifted in response to it. A teasing smirk, he deduced, but now wasn’t the time or place to address it. 

His new employee would have plenty of time to ostracize him for his lack of physical fitness - once she got to know him better - but for now, he needed to get out of this enclosed space. 

Hop trekked to and through the doorway, around the small hallway and then stopped, “Listen up you fine folk of Hawkins, PD, your Chief’s got something to say...” 

Callahan and Powell looked up, leaned back into a pair of squeaky chairs and did all they could not to roll their eyes. 

“I’d like to welcome the newest member to our little team of superheroes: Officer Charlie Cooper. Charlie, you already know Flo, who appears to still be out and about getting lunch I’m guessing? But we have Officer Powell on the left here and Officer Callahan on the right. Those two will be your swing shift partners every other week.” 

Both of the men smiled before a look of utter confusion marred their faces as to just what Hopper meant by that last bit. Regardless, they each rose in unison and walked over to meet Charlie, hands extended towards her in a warm, welcoming gesture. 

“It’s really great to meet you both. I’m already eager to work alongside you and learn all the ins and outs of Hawkins.” Each of them smiled in kind and then returned to their respective desks. A simple, no-expectation meet and greet. That’s all Hopper hoped for and exactly what he got.

Hopper continued to watch her and his men as they exchanged greetings, officially, for the very first time. He had a suspicion that Charlie would gel well with her fellow station staff, his opinion based solely on the minimal time they’ve spent together thus far. 

In any case, he was pleased with his officers and how they seemed to embrace her status on the roster as naturally as he had. Any alternative to that would not have been met with a lax attitude on his part, but luckily that wasn’t a concern of his. Maybe down the line at town hall meetings but not here. 

No misogyny lived in his station, of that James Hopper made certain. He had seen all too well the toxicity of male workplace dominance and ego during his time in the NYPD, but Detective Delgado – his former partner, a woman – had shown everyone else how real police work had no gender bias. 

So, Jim made an unspoken commitment to his town and never hired the types of men that would perpetuate such nonsensical bullshit. This first female officer at Hawkins, PD was a big deal but not a spectacle and Hopper vowed not to turn Charlie into that. 

“Alright you two, back to work. Actually–no, Callahan and Powell, need to see you in my office about a slight schedule shift. Cooper... Update me on your progress later today. I leave for the day, usually, around five, five-thirty so any time before that would be great.” 

Charlie knew that was her cue to hit the streets and get to work on the uniform with her Aunt. She paused at Flo’s desk to peek at the folder with her name and assigned Badge number listed on it already – #188 – and then made for the exit. 

Hopper raised both eyebrows and waved his hat at Charlie’s back as she threw her arms up to signal a farewell to both him and the staff as she made her way out. She knew exactly where Flo would have went to lunch – a place the pair of them had met regularly over the past few months. 

Once outdoors again, her stomach rumbled from a hunger she hadn’t known was there; the excitement of the morning, of meeting the Chief, being hired and feeling as though she had purpose again had wholly and fully distracted her. 

_’All really, really good things,’_ Charlie mumbled to herself, and that was when the smile that no longer needed to be hidden returned; it shone bright in the afternoon sun, despite the ache in her belly.

†

The ‘Kins Diner was a staple to the region and its townsfolk. While there certainly existed a few other choices for fast food and a hot meal, most of the residents preferred the familiarity and home-town vibe that the ‘Kins brought from one generation to the next.

Flo was there, as Charlie suspected, and damn near finished her lunch already. Not that it was a big lunch, per se. The secretary had the same exact meal every Tuesday, come rain or shine: A turkey and cheese sandwich, one dill pickle and a crisp, cool Coke. 

Florence waved Charlie over to her booth enthusiastically when she saw the girl, and the table rattled ever so slightly from her unabashed eagerness, “Hey Charlie! Come, come, sit!”

Charlie trotted the short distance to her Aunt and unceremoniously plopped down onto the cracked, glittery-plastic seat. Even in the little time she had spent in Hawkins thus far, she knew you had to find the spaces between the dry-rotted blue benches, otherwise you run the risk of a nasty pinch to your bum. 

“Well? Did you get the job or do I need to go back to the station right now and smack Hopper upside his thick skull?” 

Charlie snorted at that and then reached for the menu, despite the fact that she, and the waitress, knew exactly what she was going to order. Which was the same course Cooper ate every single time she was a patron here: _The ‘Kins Burger Plate._

Angus Beef, 2 slices of tomato, American cheese, three burger pickles, mayonnaise, ketchup and a splash of salt and pepper. Meat cooked until it was well done, a side of greasy curly fries and a deliciously cold Coke. Simplicity at its finest. 

Charlie ordered her usual, but the server brought over the pop beforehand, because as per the norm, familiarity had proven itself most valuable in such creature-comfort situations. 

She swirled the syrupy liquid and listened to the pops and cracks as it fizzed; Cooper loved to listen to the over-abundance of ice as it clunked against the sides of its red transparent cup. In these side-tracked moments, she would stir the straw round and round in a contented haze of just _being_ here. 

Flo noticed and snapped her fingers in front of Charlie’s far-away face, “I know you love the small-town livin’ young lady, but I’ve been waiting to know whether or not you’re gonna be sitting next to me come Monday morning!” 

“Ahhhh...I love this place. Food is so good, already can’t wait for my burger and Delia? Delia is the absolute best waitress, I’m telling you.” She nodded as she caught Flo’s exasperated expression and then patted the older woman’s hand gently, “Yes, Auntie Flo, I did get the job!” 

Flo clasped her palms together and offered up a wistfully proud smile, “Of course you did! Never had any doubts in **you,** it was the Chief. Never know what’s going on in that head of his some days. But enough about him – Congratulations, Charlie! This is going to be a really great thing for you, I know it. I just know it.” 

Cooper grinned from ear to ear, her mouth full of far too many piping-hot curly fries that were just dropped off at the table. “‘Mm s-sso ess-it’d!” 

Her Aunt chortled at the garbled mess of words that didn’t quite make it through and then patted her niece’s shoulder, “So now what’s next? What’s your schedule? I know you need a uniform. Did Hopper put us in charge of that? Burt’s is the closest and best tailor so I figure we’ll go there and — oh dear, I’m way ahead of myself, aren’t I?” 

Charlie comedically turned her head from side to side and north to south as she swallowed a meaty bite of her burger, “Yep, Burt’s is on the to-do list today. Need to get sized and at least two of them ordered, I figure. Maybe three? What’s the protocol there? Anyhow, I start Monday, second shift, so I’ll be on from two to ten pm every weekday. Callahan and Powell will swing-shift every other week and Hop said he’ll take care of procuring my badge and service weapon today. So Monday is go-time!” 

Unable to sit still now that Flo had heard the news she had hoped for, the older woman pushed her emptied plate to the side and retrieved a small notepad from her purse. 

“I believe two is standard issue, but I’m sure I can squeeze a third into the quarterly budget. I know you’ll be sharing a patrol car so that saves the town a good chunk of money right there. Let’s say three.” 

Charlie inhaled her food, and paused only long enough to breathe and take an occasional sip of her Coke. She was hungry, sure, but more-so amped to head on over to Burt’s and check off that big to-do. She wanted to see herself in that uniform and feel its weight on her bones; wanted to see herself as a police officer again. This time in a safer town with a man - with men - who respected their peers versus the absolute hell she experienced back in Philly. 

Flo was right - this was going to be really, really good for her.


	4. The Colors & the Cast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hopper does paperwork while Charlie gets fitted for her uniform. Hopper goes to take care of her badge while Charlie reveals in the life she's building here... slow burn is SLOW.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was two days late! Sickness caught me out of nowhere but it IS 4k+ words, so I hope the length makes up for it! (twss..)

Burt’s was a charmed brick and mortar shoppe, and like the rest of this relaxed town, it was the only one of its kind. 

The owner and master tailor – Burt Fielder – was the sort of gentleman that embodied the sincere, quiet-type, to which Charlie had fully expected to find upon her arrival.

He didn’t disappoint. 

The man was somewhere between his late-fifties and mid-sixties, short in height by the burdened nature of a rather prominent hunch. His hair was stark-white, evidence that it lost all its color far too soon from a life well-lived. A pair of black-framed glasses adorned his weathered face, each lens looking as though it weighed close to a pound; while they didn’t sound heavy in the grand scheme, she was fully convinced that the eyeglasses, in some way, attributed to his poor posture. 

Charlie closed the world away as the warmth of this place and the presence of it all overwhelmed her; this brand new, yet somehow familiar, tinge of happiness spread from within her chest outward. The feeling found its home in her bones and whispered a promise never to go. And she prayed it never would. 

After the reverie, Cooper paused near the front cashier; she sought the forgotten, hidden treasures and longed to absorb the thread of magic that had woven itself so delicately throughout this place. Her eyes moved around to each and every fine, aged detail from one end of the store to the other in a slow, methodical fashion. 

There was so much rich history contained within these walls, and all of it captured and enamored Cooper in a way she hadn’t felt before. 

Dusty trinkets and baubles littered rows of floor-to-ceiling shelving units; twisted tape measures intertwined with themselves endlessly while empty button boxes laid open, their contents long gone. There were stuffed pin pillows of all colors that were faded and bleached by years of sunshine; every nook and cranny was occupied, with rusted baskets sat apart, each overflowing with antique glamour magazines. The pages curled up on their ends, withered from dry-rot and time gone by; Charlie grazed her fingertips across the stiff paper and knew exactly what they would smell like, had she bent down to do so. 

In short, everywhere that could fit something, _did_ fit something. 

Charlie passed the front window and a rack of sun-beaten postcards while she ruminated on the older man and this place; she smiled to herself – most of Hawkins was filled with genuine folk similar to the likes of Burt – with age, race and gender all wonderfully varied. And it was within this cozy community, Cooper found herself routinely surprised by the simplistic things that constantly moved her.

Even from the very get-go there existed a warmth to Hawkins that Charlie had picked up almost instantly; it was one thing to live **in** a place, but something else entirely when locals made the absolute most of all they had. Happy and grateful all the while. 

In this itty-bitty shop, as Charlie took it in, the girl discovered that her heart was far more in love with this town than she originally believed it could be. Which worried her, as there was far more on the line these days than ever was before. 

Back in Philadelphia she worked hard, so much harder than her male counterparts, but in doing so, she earned her keep and fought her way into the PD one step at a time. And then exerted twice as much energy to keep the job and have others view her as worthy of it. Both _within_ the bullpen and outside of it. 

Still, whenever she looked back now – which was far too often – Charlie saw how much distance she put between those days and the ones she waded through now. 

But here, today, she sensed she was on the right path, that where her feet were currently planted was exactly the place she needed to rebuild from. Charlie had just become an officer of the law again – in a town so distant and removed from all she had known that Hawkins might as well be on the moon. And Charlie loved this moon. 

“Charlie, dear, come over and say hi to Burt! You’re staring around like you’ve never seen the inside of a tailor shop before!”

Aunt Flo startled her and in doing so, whipped Cooper right out of that exploratory headspace and into the present again. “Oops, apologies! I was just admiring the history of this place. It feels out of time in the very best way.” 

Charlie trekked to the rear of the store and extended her hand to Burt, “So glad to meet you! I hear you’re the very best.” 

Burt blushed ever-so and Charlie immediately loved him for it, “Awe, well isn’t she sweet as pie, Flo! And yes, Officer, I am the very finest in Indiana, yes ma’am. Now how’s about we get you fitted for those blues so this town can be all the more safer for it?” 

It was Charlie’s turn to blush and as she did, Florence squeezed her shoulder and winked. She knew her niece was happier than she had been in a long time, and the energy of what the future held just up ahead was palpable.

†

Hopper click-clacked away on the typewriter, his hands periodically click-clacked in tandem to pop the air out of his knuckles. He whispered the words as he typed them out, while an almost fully-smoked cigarette bobbed and bounced dangerously between his lips.

Occasionally a chunk of white-gray ash would drop down and land in his lap or on a thigh, but he brushed it aside without a care in the world. Any leftover streak marks on his trousers were typically something he’d get irritated with, but none of this was new for Jim. 

When he worked intensely, or was more focused than usual, he wouldn’t pay attention to even the largest distraction, let alone fallen ash. And today, today the Chief had already plowed through his list of to-do’s before he moved on to Cooper’s firearm registration forms. 

The forms didn’t need to be filed with the State, according to Indiana law, so all he needed to do was record the weapon’s serial number, make, and model in conjunction with her personal information and be done with it. 

The entire process took no longer than twenty minutes and once it was all completed, he stacked the forms for the time being and then placed the unloaded revolver into its leather holster. From there, it was locked in the safe weapons cache until he could give it to Charlie later in the week or early next. 

The final thing on his list was to drive down to the metalsmith – Tommy Becket’s place – and see about getting Charlie’s badge made. He called Tommy – who was one of his regular bar buddies – right after Cooper had left to meet Flo. Hopper wasted no time and cashed in on a favor: fabricate her shield sooner rather than later. No wait time, no processing hold-ups, just get it done. 

Hopper stalked out of his stuffy office and strode over to Flo’s immaculately-clean work area. He slipped the registration forms into an empty manilla folder and set it down onto the secretary’s chair, knowing it would be the first thing she would find. After, he rummaged around for Charlie’s badge number, located it, and then walked promptly out the door without another word. 

“Hey Chief, where are ya–“ 

Powell half-stood as his attempt to talk to Hopper failed when the door hit home. He tried to reach Hop but the man rushed through the exit, and it ended up a ‘too little, too late’ situation. 

“Sheesh, he never tells us what he’s up to.” 

Callahan nodded with his mouth full from a bite of his roast beef sandwich and shrugged, “He’ll radio if there’s trouble. Least we know there’s always that.” 

Powell mirrored Callahan’s shoulder-pull and then stole a potato chip from his partner, “Still, if there’s action, I’d like to be in on it, too. Some days are so damn boring.” 

Callahan laughed and fought hard to suppress the snort that snuck through, “When the hell has there been any action here, man? It’s Hawkins. The most we’ve seen lately was today when Hopper hired Charlie. That’s about it.” 

The older cop reached for another salty chip while he audibly sighed, “Speaking of, I don’t mind Cooper joining the gang, but that shift change shit is gonna be a pain in the ass. My girl is not gonna be happy having me miss dinner every other week. I ain’t into it either, to be honest.”

Callahan wiped at his messy fingers and nodded silently, “Mmhmm...Vanessa won’t dig it neither. But what’re we gonna do? Not show up to work every other week?” 

Powell rolled his eyes as he meandered over to his own desk, another handful of the salty snacks in tow; he was quiet, with all of his thoughts wrapped up in just _what_ would happen if that’s exactly what they chose to do.

†

Hopper arrived at Becket’s Die-Cast, which was really nothing more than a small storefront attached to a shoddy garage in the rear. There were tools, smelters and molds laying about haphazardly everywhere; rows of two-by-fours and vices were locked in ongoing battles time immemorial; they were scattered all around the floor and perched atop sawhorses, but Hopper knew how to navigate well enough in Tom’s shop to get where he was going.

“Hey Tommy, how you doing?” Hop removed his hat as he walked into the garage space; aviators folded and tucked away into his uniform pocket, he gazed around and smirked at the stacked slips stabbed through a single nail atop a wooden base. 

“Business been picking up?” 

Tommy “mmhmm’d” with his spine bent over and faced away from the Chief of Police. He had an engraving tool steadied in both of his hands as he worked on a piece of bronze for a different client. 

“Good, good. Thanks for taking my order over the phone. I’ll have Flo cut your check from the township later this week. But I do appreciate you bumping me up. Want this new cop to start soon as she can, and this helps make that happen in a big way.” 

At that, Tommy turned around and switched his tool off, eyes trained solely on the cop in his workspace. “Hop...did you say, _she?_” 

Jim bobbed his head and affirmed that what the metal man had said was true, “Yup. Hired her today. She’s from Philly PD and knows what she’s doing. Town could use some new eyes on the street.” 

“Mmhmm, and Jim Hopper could use some new ass–“

Hopper moved so fast, Tommy hadn’t known what happened at first, “Enough of that right now. She’s not like that. She’s a police officer in the town you live and you’ll respect her like you respect me, Becket. Are we clear?” 

Becket threw his dirtied, calloused hands in the air and gnawed on his lower lip, “Crystal, Chief. Lessons have been learned here today. Now, give me her badge number. I already molded and set the shield itself soon as you called it in, just need to etch the number and add the colors and she’ll be ready to go.” 

“It’s **188**. Will it be done later today or should I come back tomorrow? And why did you need me to come down here if you planned on having the damn thing done already? If all you needed was the badge number, I could have given that over the phone.” 

Hopper placed his hat back on top of his head and gestured around with both arms in utter bewilderment. 

“Well hang on now, I wanted to see if you’d be interested in meeting up with a few of my friends this Friday night for a game?” 

One of Jim’s eyebrows rose in question before, “And I ask again, you couldn’t have pitched this to me over the phone?” 

Tommy shrugged and stretched his arms, “Aw Hop, you know I love when my favorite pig is in my place of work. No but seriously, I didn’t think I’d have it molded as early as I did and I figured you’d want to inspect it before I did the coloring and engraving.” 

Hopper reached for his sunglasses and laughed at the same time, “So no friends for a ball game?” 

“Oh no, that’s still on the roster for the week but really, it was the cast I wanted you to approve. So...do you approve it?” 

Jim tapped his shades against the taut line of his jaw as he walked over to the man; he peered over Tommy’s shoulder and down at the shiny, brand new badge and smiled, “There she is. Raw but brand spanking. It looks great, Tom. Excited to see it finished up. So, I’ll swing by tomorrow when I get done my shift, but Friday night’s ball game – which park?” 

Becket smiled a pleased smile and then rubbed a polishing cloth across the center of the badge, “Thanks, ace, appreciate it. Always a pleasure working for the Hawkins, PD. And Tulcum, Tulcum Park, seven pm. Hope to see you there. We’ll probably go out for drinks after, just so you know.” 

Jim was at the garage door by the time Tommy had finished, his aviators on and the Blazer’s keyring jingle-jangling in one hand, “I’ll see about that game, but the bar sounds doable.” 

Becket chortled to himself and then resumed work on the shield, all thoughts redirected in an effort to get the job done for his friend and the curious new woman Jim seemed so protective of already.

†

After he left Becket’s, Hopper drove to Main Street, his direction now aimed towards the diner to grab a late – way, way too late – lunch. It was well past two pm and the Chief’s stomach rumbled in protest; a steady diet of coffee and cigarettes all day hadn’t done much to satiate his appetite and now Jim’s body ached as a result.

Hop felt jittery and wired and needed something greasy and quick to take the edge off. And there was no better place in town than sweet Delia and _The ‘Kins Burger Plate._

He pushed the diner's ancient door open and winced as it squealed and pushed back against him ever-so – _‘Damn, did everything need a good shot of WD-40?'_

“Ahhh, Hopper! Good to see you – been a few days! We were all starting to worry here...So, what’ll it be today? The usual?” Delia smiled widely at her favorite police chief and then turned away to start up another pot of coffee. 

“Hey, Del. And yep, Burger Plate and a large Coke to go, please.” He chuckled quietly before, “You just know me so well, doncha?” Hopper sat at the counter as he spoke to the waitress in pleasantries, both the hat and sunglasses placed off to the left side of his arm. 

Delia turned back around and winked at Hop in a knowing sort of feature. The older woman laughed then, “I know what I know and that’s all I need to know, right Jim?” 

He laughed at her flirtatious sweet nothings and then nodded, “Fair is fair. So how have you been? Keeping busy with that college boy of yours?” 

Delia emitted an “oof” before both of her hands slapped down on the counter in a clear display of frustration. “Oh, _former_ college boy, you mean. Jake got himself into a bit of trouble with his grades and girls so now he’s staying with his daddy in Michigan for a little while. I’m mad as hell at that boy, let me tell you that right now, Chief.” 

Hopper’s eyebrow had risen up at that and then he shook his head from one side to the next, “Grades and girls will definitely cause a young man some trouble. Sorry about that, Del. I hope his father can set him on the straight and narrow going forward.” 

Just then, a bell chimed from behind the waitress; she popped her gum, lifted one of her penciled eyebrows and swiveled around to the cook's station. 

“Thanks, Alex. Here ya go, Chief, one Burger Plate, well done, with a side of extra fries and dipping sauces. Let me rustle up that Coke for you and I’ll have you on your way.” 

Hopper tossed a few bucks down onto the counter, along with a generous tip, and reached for his belongings as he readied to leave the establishment. He loved this place as much as he loved anything these days, and often wished he could do some form of his work here to an extent. Unfortunately that wasn’t the nature of his business and so frequent trips needed to suffice.

Hat on top of his head, eyes half-covered by perched shades, he grabbed his bag of food, palmed the cold drink and raised his arms at Delia, “You’re the best, sweetheart. I’ll be in again soon. And you tell that boy Hawkins’ Chief of Police says to get his shit together, yeah?” 

Delia rested her chin on the palms of her hands and bobbed her head to Hopper’s friendly threat, “You got it, Jim. You keep safe out there and stay warm. Autumn’s gonna start to nip.”

“Always.”

†

“This is a _perfect_ fit, Burt. Damn, you are so criminally talented, I might arrest you after we’re done here!” Charlie turned left to right in front of the tailor’s mirror and smoothed the light blue fabric down her ribs and hips. The cut was close-fitting, but it wasn’t hugged to her form in any stretch of the imagination.

She would be able to move, work, run, and breathe comfortably in this uniform – while still, she looked like the female officer she was. No baggy, oversized throw away clothing like some of the Philly PD gear. Cooper felt immensely grateful...again...all of a sudden. 

“Thanks, Officer Charlie. I do pride myself on a job well done. Oh, I almost forgot: the work-boots you need – you’ll be able to find those at the Army/Navy surplus store just down the way. It’s a little farther of a drive than any of us on Main Street, but they have the best utility footwear. I’ll call Sam and let her know you’ll be on your way soon as you leave here. Flo knows where the store is.” 

Charlie smiled and bounced her head slightly; she gazed south to see the borrowed pair of black socks poking out from underneath her tailored pants and couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled within her chest. She felt so professional and ready to take on the evil underbelly of Hawkins...in her hosiery. 

Flo pursed her lips and grinned at Charlie’s quiet moment and then walked over to the cashier, “Burt, you let me know the total cost and I’ll cut the check now. And don’t forget, we’ll need three uniforms in full. Do you have a time estimate as to when they might be completed?” 

Burt hustled out from Charlie’s messy corner, with bits of cloth and pins dropping down onto the linoleum as he went. It took him a league longer than Flo but the cursed hunch was always to blame for that. 

“That’ll be the usual, plus one. Appreciate it, Florence. You be sure to tell that Chief of ours that he’s hired a great one this time. I just know it.” 

Burt turned to Charlie and winked – in that kind, compassionate sort of way – while he accepted the endorsed paper and stowed it under the money in his teller drawer. 

“I’d say to come back by Thursday evening at the latest. I’ll set to work on these for the rest of today and all day Wednesday and Thursday morning. That should be more than enough time.” 

Burt scratched the top of a whisky-white eyebrow as he looked at his calendar, “Yeah, yeah that’ll work. I have John coming in to help with some other work tomorrow so that’ll free me up to get Charlie’s done first.” 

Flo grinned and reached out her hand, “Thanks, always, Burt. You’re too good to us.” 

Charlie appeared before them at that moment, still in her pinned and chalked mock-up uniform. “Looking forward to seeing you on Thursday, Mr. Fielder! And thank you again for taking care of me. I appre–” 

Just then, someone from across the way caught Charlie’s eyes: It was the Chief. One of his hands held a greasy brown-bag while the other pulled a bunch of fries out of said bag. He appeared to be headed towards his parked truck, but Charlie had this sudden urge to show him her new “standard issue attire.” 

Nothing about her experience thus far today was standard or issued, but regardless, Charlie found herself pleased with the entire situation and wanted to share that. With Hopper. Her boss. 

_’Oh no, no, no. He’s your Chief. He’s your superior. This is just nerves speaking and nothing else, right Charliegirl?’_

“Charlie?” 

Snapped from the weird and confused nature of the daydream, Cooper looked at her Aunt and immediately forced a smirk, “Hmm? What’s that now?”

“You should get into the backroom and change, dear. We have to go to the Army/Navy surplus store to buy those boots and then back to the station to complete more paperwork.” 

Cooper nodded in silence first but moved on to mumble an, “Oh, right,” before she turned away in the direction of the changing room. 

Just as she spun on a heel and started for the rear of the shoppe, the bell above the front door chimed, signaling a new guest had entered. 

“Hey Flo, Burt, just stopped in to see how everything’s coming along,” Jim had just finished another fistful of fries, as evidenced by the shine of grease on both his mouth and beard. He licked his lips messily and then dug around in the base of the bag for something to clean his fingers with.

“Well hello there, Chief, always good to have you in the shop. Officer Charlie’s been fitted and she’ll be ready to report for duty before you know it.” 

Jim wiped his tacky hands on a found spare napkin and patted old Burt on one of his slouched shoulders afterwards, “Good man, good man. Never doubted it.” 

Charlie paused and listened to the convo before the realization that her extreme statuesque pose might be misconstrued as...odd. She shifted to face each of them and once she saw her boss, her mouth eased into a warm, close-lipped smile. 

“Mr Burt is what I’d like to call, a certified genius. I’m finished up here and now Flo and I will be on our way to the surplus store and–and what is it?” 

She severed her own sentence at a mischievous expression that passed over Jim’s face like a shadow; it was a merciful minute that crawled on as she assessed what that hint of darkness might have signified. It hadn’t been the **bad** kind of darkness though – she knew that kind all too well – and it wasn’t long until she understood: Jim Hopper had checked her out and openly reacted to what he saw. 

It was quick, and hardly noticeable, but it happened nonetheless. 

“Nothing, Officer Cooper. Fit looks good. Just, uh, let me know, Flo, if you need anything. I’m on my way back to the station to finish this delicious lunch. You forgot about me, Mrs. Florence, and now I’m ravenous.”

Hopper winked at his secretary and hastily tipped his hat again at Charlie and Burt; the rattled man hightailed it out of the shoppe before anyone had the opportunity to reply, the doorbell whining at such a swift exit. 

Fielder watched as Charlie’s eyes followed her superior out the door and into his tan and beige truck. The elder silently snickered to himself, _’Things in this quiet, hideaway town might just take an interesting turn...’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments mean the WORLD *smooches*


	5. Rocksalt & Rancher Hats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie & Gwen go out to the town bar, and of course, some small town pain in the ass starts trouble...

“You start on Monday, Charlie...which means we have an entire weekend to live it up before you make the biggest splash this town has seen in a long damn time.” 

Cooper nodded as she methodically wrapped a section of her dark, chestnut hair around the heated barrel of a curling iron.

On Tuesday night – the same day Charlie had gotten the job at Hawkins Police Department – the cousins made plans to go out and celebrate that following weekend. First they’d share a meal and a victory toast, then they’d loiter around the area directly around the jukebox with obnoxious devil-may-care laughs. 

The cherry on top would be a liquor-scented, taped-together microphone, where their intention was to hit everyone with their best shot. 

Finally, the week was done and tonight was _the_ night to party and live it up.

Gwen and Charlie were headed to The Salt House – Hawkins’ local bar and restaurant – or as Flo’s youngest had always called it, “the happenin’ place to be.” 

Well, nearly headed there...

“You almost ready, Officer Coopah?” 

Charlie smirked and ignored Gwen’s playfulness as she continued to ready herself for the evening ahead. Her upper body tilted to one side whilst she squeezed a generous pump of violet gel out onto her palms. Again and again, she raked her fingers through lengthy waves that fell in sweeps of shined motion; each hand haphazardly teased at thick pools of dark brown, the hair pushed up and out in a rhythm she had mastered long ago. When she was finished, the once-spooled curls were pulled apart, which created exactly the look she had gone for: Voluminous and messy. 

After a week of business-style, rigid ponytails, she sought to infuse life and excitement to her appearance. And in a secret Charlie Cooper kept only for herself, she felt sexy...like a witchy woman on the prowl. Only, she wasn’t on the hunt. Their outing was a girls night, nothing more. 

Still. Her week had been focused solely on the tasks she needed to get done. Which had been plentiful. 

But once those work-required errands had been completed – a few with her Aunt and some without – Charlie decided to shop for other essentials she’d need for the job: a well-made leather belt to hold her pistol and holster, a tactical multi-purpose knife, two pairs of aviator shades, not unlike her Chief’s, and a brand new, heavy-duty duffle bag for trips to the gym after her shifts. 

Despite the need for fun at present, Charlie felt accomplished and composed, both mentally and physically; as she embarked into this next phase of her career, she desired to keep herself as well and properly focused as she was able. No unsuspected surprises this time, and absolutely no ill-preparedness that might bite her in the ass down the line. 

None of that. She was razor-sharp and wanted to remain that way.

While it was true that fitness tests would likely be a thing of the past, Cooper intended to work hard and maintain the athletic figure she had at present. There would be no room for complacency on account of her living in a small town, of that she had already made sure.

Cooper had learned she could only trust herself, especially in her duties as an Officer of the law. She had made a monumental mistake once when it came to trust and the individuals she had worked for and alongside, and it had nearly cost her her life. 

“Like, really though, are you ready yet?” Gwen popped up by the doorjamb and then promptly proceeded to stab both of her hands into the nest of her short, blond hair. It was a crimped, blown-out, wild-style for the girls’ outing but it looked right on Gwen. 

She was a bubbly, bouncy type and her outlandish uniqueness never failed to brighten Charlie’s mood. This ensemble, which consisted of all colors and shapes – and her hair in a similar state – was no exception.

Charlie gave herself a once-over in the bathroom mirror that the roommates shared and exhaled; two hands eased themselves down and across her flat belly, the form-fitted ebony top molded and taut against her heated skin. 

The dark-eyed girl smiled warmly, “Yeah, yeah, I’m ready, you’re definitely ready. Let’s get going...” 

“Ya know, you’re looking exceptionally hot, cuz – you thinking you’re gonna meet someone in the dusty booths of the ‘House?” 

As Charlie settled into the passenger seat of Gwen’s ‘76 C10 pickup, she chuckled at the curious, albeit generous, compliment, "Why can't I look good for me? Or for us? Anyway, it's just a tee and jeans, G." 

“Mmhmm, sure thing, Officer.” 

Cooper rolled her eyes and relaxed against the faded leather headrest, “you’re not gonna let that lie any time soon, huh?” 

“Nope, sorry, Officer Charlie, ma’am. Guess you’ll just have to arrest me?”

†

_The Salt House_ was located on the “busy” corners of Main and Bristle; built between a leather goods shop – where Charlie had purchased her belt and the sheath for her knife – and an ice cream parlor, it was widely known as the town’s staple.

Its exterior was crafted in white-washed brick and black paint so it appeared to look older than it was, but the inside was all light wood, with the decor done in mid-century, Texas-ranch style. 

The details captured Charlie as she paused at their booth to take in the surroundings: Longhorns were nailed on the wall beside rusted, vintage horseshoes and the occasional used cowboy hat. All along the baseboards and even situated beneath select glossed, hardwood benches were heavy bags of rock-salt. Varied in sizes, they were there for aesthetic purposes but also out to use whenever the town was inundated by a snowstorm. 

This was another reason why The Salt House was a staple; Hawkins was known for its wicked winters and so anywhere the township could get help from local businesses and patrons alike, it accepted it greatly. 

In any case, Charlie reveled in the duality of this place on its looks alone, but having never been here yet, she was far more enticed by the “American Steakhouse” menu than anything else. 

All standard food items that were found mostly anywhere – burgers, salads, chicken, etc., – were also found here, but for her first meal, Charlie wanted a heavy-pour of white, a well-done porterhouse and a baked potato steamed on her plate.

“So you dig it or what? Nick’s the bartender, that short guy over there with the red shirt on, and Mack is the owner, who’s usually only here on Saturdays. But mostly everyone is good people and the food? Girl, the food is the best in a hundred or so miles, I’d bet on it. Anyone would bet on that, actually.” 

Eyebrows raised, Charlie grinned in silent approval of the atmosphere; it was the bright kind of smile that spilled across her features – the same she had offered to Jim Hopper at their meeting earlier in the week. 

_Hopper._

Thoughts of the Chief of Police – of the boss, _her_ Chief – came in and flooded her brain; meanwhile thoughts concerning the ‘House and Gwen’s talking faded, replaced with a sensation she couldn’t quite name yet. 

Her consciousness was so caught up in the meanderings of Jim Hopper that she hadn’t noticed her roommate snapping her fingers once, twice, before, “Earth to Cooper, where’d you go? Food is here. Now let’s eat so we can get to that jukebox and ruin everyone’s night!” 

Charlie dismissed Gwen’s pesky interruption as she peered down at the deliciousness laid out in front of her; lips well-licked and readied to dismantle the food, she pondered no more for the man that seemed to linger so often on the edge of her mind these last few days.

†

Their meals consumed, Gwen and Charlie split the bill and moved on from booths to barstools; with two fresh glasses of white Sauvignon Blanc poured, the hour sat halfway between eight and nine.

The Salt’s dance floor started to crowd with locals and friends alike and Charlie found herself lost in space by the lure of this place; maybe it was the wine and the darkened atmosphere, maybe it was the residual happiness that she had found the right path – whatever it was, tonight _felt_ good. And that was enough. 

Just enough, in fact, for karaoke. 

“Let’s go CC, time to grab that mic, put Asia on and teach these locals how fun a badass lady-cop can be!” 

Charlie laughed – a big, hearty laugh that echoed across the bar and startled Nick in the best of ways. She tapped on the tacky wooden bar top and winked at the man, then hopped down out of her chair. Or stumbled, more like. 

Being short never bothered the brunette except for when she needed to exit a high seat _after_ she’d imbibed. So it was no surprise that the thing Cooper was most thankful for in that moment was that she hadn’t worn heels tonight. 

Feet on the ground, glass in hand, she finger-gunned her cousin and pointed towards the jukebox, “It is time, isn’t it?” 

“Oh yes, roomie, it is.”

†

_It was the heat of the moment..._  
the heat of the moment  
Telling me what your heart meant  
The heat of the moment shone in your eyes... 

Gwen watched in amusement as Cooper dipped and swayed, the song lyrics belted out and into the busy bar with not a single care for pitch, tone or accuracy. Charlie’s hair looked windswept and sweaty now, but all of this was just fun – pure and unadulterated joy – exactly the cure each of them needed.

Charlie especially. Gwen remembered when her Mom mentioned an out of towner relocating to Hawkins; also that this unfamiliar family member – a slightly older cousin on her Mom’s side – had experienced a whole swath of trouble over on the East Coast. It was no secret that this stranger – Charlie Cooper – wanted to start over in this little hideaway town and Gwen immediately offered to take her in. To help. 

In part because she herself had struggled when the time had come to deal with a nonexistent career and an aimless life-path in her post-college days. But, and more so to the point, she wanted to get to know her long-lost cousin. 

Initially, she understood it would be a risk to take in a roommate sight-unseen, family or not, but the more Gwen Perry came to know Charlie, the happier she had become as a result. 

They enjoyed one another and balanced each other’s personalities in the most complimentary of ways; Cooper had a wild side but rarely had shown it, whereas Gwen lived and slept by the very definition of chaos and spontaneity. Charlie took great care to exercise and eat well regularly...ish, whereas Gwen hadn’t paid too much attention to the carbs and calories or missed days at the gym. 

They were comfortable together, a give and take of warmth and light came to be in their modest two-bedroom apartment; it hadn’t taken long for the girls to form a quick bond built on trust and honestly. 

Charlie shared _most_ of her past with Gwen; the vivid, gory details were dissected and laid bare and Perry did what she could in that moment: she listened intently and was present for the young woman who seemingly had no one else in the world she could confide in. 

Gwen made it clear from that conversation onward that should her shoulder or a roomy full size bed be needed, it was always available. No matter the time or reason. 

And so to see this faraway cousin, her newest best friend, revel in the respite of their evening and free herself of the shadows that sometimes kept the girl awake all hours of the night, was nothing short of a true delight. 

“Yes! Louder woman! The bikers in the back can’t get enough!” 

Charlie winked as she heard the confident cheers of at least _one_ person in the room and because of the wonderful praise, she couldn’t stop the operatic ending that boomed out of her throat.

_Heat of the mOOOOmennnnntttt_

She laughed a bit too near to the microphone after that shock of an end, but quickly bowed and handed the grimy object over to Gwen for her turn. Just in case any onlookers wanted someone to blame for their blown eardrums. 

“Real nice, Cooper! Real COPLY move of ya, right there!” Gwen jokingly berated Charlie as she accepted the handout and then curtsied in defense of her bestie. Besides, she loved the hoots and hollers and Charlie knew it. 

“Now what shall I serenade y’all with on this fine, moody evening...?” 

As Gwen enticed and roused the crowd to pay her attention, Charlie hopped up onto her barstool and gulped two healthy sips from her drink. She ‘woohoo’d’ her cousin and threw an occasional fist in the air in a show of support but her feet and vocal cords earned themselves a much needed break. 

With the opening lyrics to Petty and Nicks’ _’Stop Draggin’ My Heart Around’_ having started, one of the bar patrons that the blond enlisted for the duet, had positioned himself at her side. 

Charlie chortled at Gwen’s brazen nature as she polished off a second glass of the cool, crisp alcohol. She intended to sit for a while, order a few more beverages and every once and again wiggle down and sing a tune or so.

Just as she settled though, The Salt House’s double-doors opened wide and a crowd of raggedly-uniformed men stumbled through. According to Nick behind the bar, it was a guy named Tommy Becket – Tommy being front and center – along with his baseball gang and all of their gear in tow. 

The seven or so men, which Charlie couldn’t properly discern from her vantage point, deposited bloated duffles and used wooden bats onto the floor beneath the windowsills. 

They were loud and boisterous when they entered but it grew in volume as they redirected themselves towards the bar. 

After he walked right through a group of college kids, about a half-dozen or so, he smiled a gap-toothed grin and, “Nickayyyy! The usual for us, thanks, man.” 

Nick acknowledged the request with a polite nod; he added nothing more as he moved down to the taps and poured the teams’ beer. 

“Well, hi there. I don’t recall seeing you ‘round these parts. I’m Tommy, Tommy Becket.” 

Cooper saw a hand – both dirt-stained and jagged-nailed –extend over to her and she inwardly cringed; everything down to this man’s voice had already irked her, even though she knew absolutely zero about him. 

She held her wine glass up in one palm and her handbag in the other before, “I’m Charlie.”

“Well, good to meet you Charlie. You new here or just passing through?” 

Charlie crossed both legs and shifted her gaze back towards the jukebox; she didn’t know this man and certainly did not want to give the impression she was interested. The only thing she wanted was to watch and enjoy G’s performance with a few drinks and laughs as the night wore on. 

“Uh, no, not new. Excuse me, I’m just gonna go and see how my cousin is doing. Nice to meet you.” 

She slid off the stool again, more wobbly this time than the first, and Tommy snorted, “Had a few already, dollface?”

“Dollf–“ 

“Tommy, drinks up!”

Nick cut Charlie off before she had the chance to finish, but a tiny part of her was grateful for it. She didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot with anyone just because she hadn’t liked their vibe. That wasn’t her way. 

Still, Tommy and his ‘dollface’ comment was the last damn thing she would oblige tonight. 

“Charlieeee!” I was wondering when you’d come back over. What’d you think of mine and Pete’s rendition of the song? Pretty bitchin’, eh?” 

“It was quite the bitchin’ show, girl. You have an inner Stevie you never told me about and I’m thinking you should give us some more... maybe ah, oh I don’t know, Edge of Seventeen this time?” 

The laugh that bubbled up and out of Gwen’s chest was born from a place only they had known about; inside jokes, roommate secrets and good old fashioned girls-night-in dates were something they made a point to partake in, and that song, well, that song played a big part of those times. 

But that was for the two of them to know and no one else, and so, “Wait, what’d I miss here?” 

Pete looked back and forth between Perry and Cooper, a dumbfounded and confused look marked his face, yet he was still certain he might catch on at any moment. 

“Nothing, it’s nothing. Oh, Charlie, this is Pete. Pete, this is Charlie, my cousin and roomie.”

The greetings exchanged, Charlie and Pete moved to a different table closer to the action and stood by its side, a round of fresh drinks delivered shortly thereafter. 

While Gwen was in the opening of her second Nicks’ song, Pete and Charlie fell into easy conversation. He was younger than both of the girls and still in school, she was the town’s newest police officer – that impressed him into a laughable silence – and on and on the sharing of surface-facts went. 

Or on and on it would have gone until, “You never answered my question over there, wobbly girl. You new in town or just blowing on through? And you’re Charlie? Charlie what? Who’s your cousin?” 

Charlie sighed and rolled her eyes as Becket strode up to their space and sat his full tumbler of ale down. The man was intrusive and uninvited and yet, hadn’t seemed to take a single hint. 

“Listen, I don’t know you, and I’m just trying to have a good time tonight with my people. Maybe you could go over to the pool tables and do the same with yours?” 

Tommy’s neck jutted back as a hand slapped itself against his own chest, “Wow, I didn’t think I was that much of a bother. Just trying to get to know you...the newness in town. Sorry so much, Miss Bitch.” 

A chuff spilled out through Cooper’s smirked, red lips and she turned to the side to face Tommy, “Classy. I think you should go now.”

“Oh, you think so, is that what you think? Well, funny because I think I’ll be staying exactly where I’m at, that’s what I think.” 

Across the main walkway and past the pods of friends that stood grouped and immersed in their own business, Nick watched the interaction and shook his head. Tommy and his boys had exhausted their welcome a long while ago, but tonight he might finally have to do something about it.

“Tommy, I think you should leave her alone. Come on, man. You and the boys have your corner in the back. That’s our deal.” 

Tommy threw his arms out to his sides and chuckled, “Or what, you’ll call Hop on me again? Or are you gonna do something about it yourself this time? Psssh, you ain’t gonna do shit, dude.” 

Charlie walked around the length of the table and rooted herself between the bartender and Becket’s direct line of sight, “This doesn’t have to be a show. I don’t want any trouble.” 

There was clearly a history in this bar that she hadn’t yet known, and Nicky was obviously concerned it might be repeated again.

She looked over her shoulder at Nick and shrugged, “It’s fine. Tommy, it was illuminating to meet you. Now if you’d please go back to your baseball pals as per the deal Nick just mentioned. There’s no need for this hassle.” 

A few of the other patrons, Gwen and Pete had stopped what they were doing and stared, unsure and unable to accurately read the situation. Charlie _was_ the new girl and Tommy _was_ known for being, well, Tommy, but this wasn’t the typical way things played out. 

“Hah...” Tommy stepped forward, the gap between him and Charlie nearly closed, “Listen up, **dollface,** who do you think you’re talking to? I don’t take orders from bitches, especially not you, Miss Bitch.” 

Charlie looked up at him and peered firmly into a pair of drunk, black eyes, “Get away from me, Mr. Becket.” 

“Ohhh, MISTER Becket, is it now?” 

Becket gazed from one side of the hushed bar to the other and then laughed in her face; tiny particles of spittle and booze landed on her cheek and her nose, and she moved to brush them away. 

“Oh no, let me take care of that for you, dollfa–“

As Tommy’s hand made contact with her face, she flexed her jaw and pushed his arm away, “Don’t ever touch me again.” 

“Ohhh, so she fights back... Well, that’s interesting. You’ll be a lot of fun in the sack, won’t you?” 

As Becket said that last, his hand lowered down onto her left forearm, those filth-encrusted nails digging into her skin slightly – just enough to pinch but not enough for pain. 

But it had been enough. 

Charlie rose her right hand and gripped at the wrist that held her arm and before he could realize what had happened, she spun him and planted his face onto the sticky tabletop. His elbow was bent awkwardly, while the arm itself was pushed up and into his higher back, his bones pressed flat against his spinal column. 

“Ahhh, you fuckin–“ 

Just then, a tall figure dressed in head to toe dark clothing and a well-worn rancher hat stood off to the right as the scene unfolded. 

“So, Tom. I see you’ve met Hawkins’ newest Police Officer, Charlie Cooper. Charlie, this is Tommy, the town metalsmith and the man happily making your badge.” 

Tommy groaned and writhed beneath Charlie’s hold before, “What in the... Is that you, Hop?” 

Hopper “mmhmm’d” the man currently pinned on the messy dining top and then tapped Charlie’s shoulder blade. 

Surprise and a rush of warmth filled her in places she hadn’t expected to feel such sensations when she laid eyes on him, “Oh, hey, Sir. Good to see you here.” 

Jim Hopper smiled at his newest hire and bobbed his head ever-so, his eyes closed in a gesture that quietly asked for her to release Becket before any further police force was required. 

She did so hesitantly, and placed her person a few paces away from the riled up nuisance; adrenaline surged through her veins as the situation resolved quickly in Hopper’s presence. 

People went back to their drinking and talking, karaoke resumed with a new pair of young girls at the helm, and Pete and Gwen had calmed enough to go order another round of drinks. 

“Leave her alone, Becket. She’ll throw you into the drunk tank faster than I will.” 

Charlie grinned at her superior – her good-looking-in-casual-clothes-too superior – and watched as the disgruntled, and now wholly deflated, man walked back from whence he came. 

“You okay though? He didn’t bother you too much?” 

Charlie grabbed her wine and silently indicated that, no, he hadn’t bothered her too much; Becket was a jerk but she could handle jerks. 

“Oh, I know. I watched the entire thing play out over at the door. Never a doubt in my mind that you’d take that rude asshole and put him in his place. Good job, Coop.” 

For what felt like the thousandth time that evening, Charlie smiled and almost bounced on her flats, excited by the new nickname he’d just given her. 

“Thanks, Chief.” 

“Call me Jim, or Hop. Whichever you want.” 

He winked at her and walked off towards the bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH I am so sorry for the two week late update! It was birthdays, then family parties, then work then a million other things that got in the way! But I'll be back to the 5-7 day posting turn around times now! 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Much more to come... x 
> 
> {{ 9/08/19 UPDATE: Chapter 6 is on the way! Family health issues need tending to first, but it's nearly there and I appreciate your patience! xx }}
> 
> {{ 9/22/19 UPDATE: Chapter 6 is nearly done! Shooting to post it tomorrow at the latest! Thanks for being patient, Hoppers xx }}


	6. A Spellbinder & A Keychain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Salt House has more happening within it this Friday night than sexist Beckett and karaoke... And Charlie drives a very inebriated Hopper home.

“Um...are you okay, cuz? That was not even a little cool what Tommy just tried to pull on you.” 

Charlie’s eyes were trained on Hopper as he sauntered over to the bar; there appeared a fresh sense of confidence to his gait – as though Charlie’s reaction to Tommy had infused the Chief with something _else._ Like the man knew he’d witnessed a special event happen in this space tonight, something admirable and commendable. 

Something unsuspected and wholly attractive to a man like Jim Hopper. 

Charlie chortled in silence as she contemplated him and then repeated the lighthearted noise as her focus moved on to Gwen. 

Perry stood statuesque, the girl’s arms criss-crossed over her chest and laid firm atop the colorful tunic beneath; she exhibited every tell-tale sign of concern: her eyebrows knitted together and the laugh lines on her rosy cheeks cut valleys around peach-tinted lips. She was scared for Cooper, that much was obvious, but there was another emotion reflected in those light eyes: Pride. 

Gwen had been worried, yes, but more than that, she was proud of her cousin for what had transpired between Beckett and Charlie. The town hadn’t seen anything quite like what happened and if these circumstances were any indication of what was to be in Hawkins? Some folks were obviously not ready. Well, at the very least, the men weren’t. 

Charlie took it all in stride these days, and so, “Oh, no, I’m okay. Everything’s okay, G. Are you alright?” 

“Charlie! That was BITCHIN’! Did you learn that gnarly move at the police academy or on the mean streets of Philadelphia? Or both? I gotta know!” 

At Gwen’s question, Pete wedged himself into the conversation and proceeded to pantomime Charlie’s defensive action against Becket. It was a hilarious, discombobulated display from a person who had no clue what he was doing, but Charlie loved the entertainment value. Loved that she had made a new friend. 

A _male_ friend and one clearly not intimidated by her line of work or personality. 

Charlie nodded and chuckled a rowdy and full laugh. Somewhere in midst she snorted and that was when Gwen’s stoic resolve and worry finally gave way to the balms of humor. 

The trio held their circle of three as they burst into boisterous amusement – each of them shoulder-slapped and hugged one another before they gradually shifted into a rhythmic dance to the music that resumed playing. 

All of this went on with not a single care as to who heard them.

†

It just so happened that Hopper was one of the patrons to hear and witness this big little group; from clear across the bar, he happily watched his newest recruit giggle so hard she snorted, smile so big her face must have been in pain and dance so fast he couldn’t follow her feet no matter how hard he attempted to.

He felt his heart pump the blood in his veins faster and faster as his limbs bounced in tune with the song they moved to:

_“Jack he sits back,_  
_collects his thoughts for a moment_  
_Scratches his head,_  
_and does his best James Dean..._” 

Jim sipped at a lager he paid no attention to whatsoever, his blues focused solely on Charlie and that electric wattage that beamed from her face. So many pathways of thought poured into his head as he observed the girl, and each packed a bigger punch to his pulse than the last. 

“Hey uh, Chief. I’m sorry about being late on the badge delivery. Sharon said you stopped by the shop yesterday afternoon while I was out on a run but it wasn’t done yet anyway. Well, I-I finished it up. Wanted to give it to you in the dugout earlier but you didn’t show for the game. So, here it is.” 

Hopper shifted on the barstool’s fractured leather cushion and deadpanned Tommy Becket as the man placed the shield down by the Chief’s beer. It was wrapped in plastic and sheathed in a protective foam, which Jim appreciated, but he wanted to see it prior to handing it to Cooper. 

The lit cigarette once kept between two fingers moved to rest between his lips as Hopper tore off the scotch tape and removed the object from within. He held and angled the badge up to a nearby light and nodded at the fine craftsmanship; the colors in the center of her shield were vivid and glossed over to a near-blinding shine, while each letter and number engraved had been etched to a perfect standard. Despite Tommy’s piss-poor behavior sometimes, his work was consistently beautiful. 

“This is good, Tom, this is really good. Thanks, she’ll appreciate it when I give it to her.” 

An unkempt, bushy eyebrow arched and Becket bumped a shoulder into Jim’s, “Oh, as you _give it to her,_ eh, Chief? Heh heh...” 

Jim shut his exasperated eyes and sighed as he repackaged, reapplied the adhesive and pocketed the shield. He patted the weighted object as it rested against his left breast and promptly turned away from Tommy. 

The exhaustion of that exchange hadn’t worn off yet, as the sweat-shined man remained perched at his side. Hop pinched the apex of his nose and shook his skull in utter annoyance; Tommy seemed to have missed the point of this interaction and ultimately misinterpreted the compliment as an open door for lewd conversation. 

“Go back to you ‘ball pals, Becket. And stop with the shit comments about my officer. You don’t even know her, man, and you’ve already started off on _both_ the wrong feet.” 

Tommy gnawed on a jagged fingernail and then threw his hands into the air in a cinematic gesture of defeat, “Aye aye, Captain. Let me know what she thinks of her badge whenever. The artist in me is curious to know ya know.” 

Hopper ignored Becket after his farewell and immediately returned all attention to his drink and withered cigarette. The weight of the badge inside his jacket lingered as it pressed to his heart and for some unbeknownst reason, Jim grinned. 

Perhaps it was because he knew Coop would give that bright, wide smile as she looked up at him, maybe even _almost_ bounce on those flat shoes again like she did not twenty minutes ago. Or maybe it was because she was about to be part of his day to day routine. Perhaps it was all of these and more he couldn’t begin to fathom. 

Either way, even though Hopper was alone at the bar, for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel so on his own.

†

“Where’d Pete run off to?”

Gwen scanned The Salt House: from the jukebox to the restrooms, and from the dance floor to the food booths, she searched for their friend in question. 

“Oh, he’s over there with Johnny D. Ya know...he likes him. Like _likes_ him, likes him.” 

Charlie leaned to the side so she could get a better view of this Johnny D. guy and nodded as she took in the man’s appearance, “I can see the appeal. He’s tall, dark and handsome. That leather biker’s jacket suits him well, too. Also, that butt looks great in those white-washed jeans.” 

Perry laughed and smirked, “I mean I know you but I’m so stoked that you’re not the judgmental type. Most people don’t know that about Pete, and certainly not about Johnny D. It’s unfortunate that they gotta keep it a secret, but that’s how it is here in these small towns. Maybe everywhere, too? I don’t know. Either way, I’m always cautioning him to be more careful. You just never know and I’ll kill any motherfucker who hurts Pete or Johnny.” 

Charlie retrieved a plastic cup of water and pursed her lips, “Big city living has a lot more people and with more people, comes a bigger variety of basically everything. Besides, who the hell am I to judge? And don’t make murderous threats in front of a police officer, G. Not a smart move.” 

The vibrant blond winked at Charlie before she pulled her cousin out onto the dance floor. “What’s this water drink you’re drinking? It’s only eleven-thirty, ya old hag.” 

Cooper followed along and dismissed the playful insult; it wasn’t long until they were both lost to the lyrics and music of Tommy Tutone’s _867-5309/Jenny..._

_"Eight six seven five three oh nine_  
_Eight six seven five three oh nine_  
_Jenny Jenny you’re the girl for me_  
_You don’t know me but you make me so happy_  
_I tried to call you before but I lost my nerve_  
_I tried my imagination but I was disturbed..."_

“So...tall, dark and handsome. That’s your type, huh?” Gwen yelled over the cacophony of electric guitars and singalong roars from the crowd that surrounded them.

Charlie tilted her head and shrugged a shoulder, her gaze suddenly thrown out into the bar smoke, eyes on the prowl for one tall, dark and handsome man in particular. 

_’No, no Charlie, don’t give a single inclination to G otherwise she will go wild with that and it could spell disaster.’_

It was too late...

Perry followed her friend’s eyes and landed on, “...Hopper?! Are you looking at James freakin’ Hopper right now? Your boss? You know he’s a womanizer, right? Loves and leaves every single girl he can get his hands on...or so I’ve been told. No personal experience there but I believe it. He’s always so standoffish and quiet. And if not that, then he’s miserable and rude. Just that type of man, ya know? He had a rough go a while back but that doesn’t mean all of Hawkins’ female population has to pay for it. Oops, sorry–” 

Gwen apologized for a rogue dance pose that struck another woman on the elbow while she had mouthed on and on about Hopper. Charlie didn’t care for anyone else around her however, just what G said and what it meant for how she already felt towards the man she hardly knew. 

Still, evasive maneuvers needed to be taken to dodge the bullet she had unintentionally fired out into the Detective Gwen Perry cosmos. 

“Whoa, whoa, girl. Slow down! First of all, I wasn’t looking at Hopper. I was looking at ...the guy behind Hop. Whoever he is – I don’t know anyone’s names but besides that, it doesn’t matter. I’m not in a place to date or have a relationship. But...there’s never any harm in just looking.” 

“Oh ok, the guy _behind_ the Chief, sure. Wait, really? That’s...oh I think that’s Scott Clarke. He works at Hawkins Middle School as a science or math teacher or whatever. A little dorky, and not the bar type, I don’t think. But if that’s your type, who am I to judge!” 

Charlie shrugged...again...and then distracted herself with the next song that started to play. She hoped her deflection worked but she knew her cousin well enough to know that it likely hadn’t and they’d circle around to this at another point in the future. 

“So back to what I was saying. I know you’ll be working with Jim Hopper...a lot...and I just want you to be aware of what type of man he is, that’s all.” 

_’Aaaaand there it is. Jig is up.’_

“G, he’s my boss, and I’ll get to know him _as_ my boss and that’s that. I appreciate you looking out for me! But enough boy talk for now. Wanna karaoke again?” 

“Woman. I thought you’d never ask.”

†

As the first chords to The Go-Go’s _Our Lips Are Sealed_ started to fill every corner of the ‘House, Jim couldn’t help the grimace that emanated from deep within.

_’This goddamn song,’_ he mumbled under his breath, then promptly ordered two more lagers and drank away half of one before the karaoke had even begun. It was one thing to listen to the song – half the town played it non-stop during the summer of 1981 which was barely over a year ago – but now two drunkards would probably butcher it left, right and center and that? That was bound to hurt.

Until he saw who was up at the pitch – Cooper. Well, Charlie and Gwen together, rather. But Hop paid no attention to the rambunctious blond – instead he sat fixated, his blues set on the short-statured, level-headed brunette that captivated him so extensively. 

Hop wanted to see more of Charlie in this element, glimpse more of the girl he would come to know. As his quiet truth would have it, Jim just wanted to see more of Charlie, period. Her happiness was infectious and Jim was enamored by everything she brought to life around her. 

Once he processed this information, it changed his entire demeanor and every complaint about which tune had been chosen and who was on deck to sing, suddenly vanished. 

The music was of less consequence – the poppy chords simply didn’t matter at all. 

It unnerved Jim how lightning-fast this switch occurred inside of him; normally he’d catch sight of a pretty girl and the part of his brain that urged him to pursue her would take control. It was this hole in him, an emptiness that originated from grief and loss – it manifested into an ugly and heartless practice done in the effort to numb away his pain. But it was all he could give, all he had to offer. 

_’You’re a broken spellbinder,’_ was the exact phrase an ex coined for him a while back. And in that moment where he knew those words were true and spoken from a place of pain he had created within her, they had absolutely no affect on him. 

But this, here, right now – it felt...unfamiliar. Unusual to a degree he hadn’t encountered ever before. 

He mulled on whether or not it might be time to leave the establishment at just how overwhelmed these **feelings** had become. 

Instead, distractedly, he was enraptured by her performance and finished his fifth bottle of the night...thus far. There was a lot of evening left yet and with how unsettled and different everything was, he didn’t know what the hell to do. 

He ordered two more Schlitz’s, grabbed one, filled his hand with the community peanuts, and then swiveled on the stool to gain a better view of their performance. 

And there she was again.

Charlie Cooper. 

The girls were halfway through and as he watched, a boozy-laugh bubbled up and out from his chest at what he saw: she moved without grace or poise, her hair whipped and thrown from side to side – it was truly a sight to behold. But Hopper looked beyond that. 

As Jim gulped and she sang, he caught onto the small things first: the muscles in her neck pulled taut as she gave it her best; her eyebrows arched as she moved through every syllable, the lyrics bursting from within; the fire-engine red lipstick on her full lips broken by how wide that smile went on and on. 

He saw steadied hands and black nail polish that was painted on seemingly kept nails. He saw her small feet ensconced in a pair of flat, understated shoes and the muted colors of her fitted attire that just _worked_ for her physique. And sure, he looked at every curve of her, too, but appreciated the whole kit and caboodle. 

But it was this desire in him, this longing to know _her_ beyond the outward appearances that was the source of his inner discord. To call it atypical of his norm would be the understatement of the century. 

Still, he glimpsed these wonderful traits and yet the main one that kept him enamored and distracted from everything and everyone else, was Charlie’s smile. He’d never seen a woman with such a bright, confident disposition and though he knew his imbibed beverages had a direct contribution to these lines of thought, albeit a weak one, it offset Jim nevertheless. 

He was yanked from further self analysis when the song apparently ended and the two cousins yelled, “Thank you, thank you. We’re here all night!” Charlie and Gwen attempted to curtsey and bow at the same time and Hopper found himself amused again – and let free another loud, hearty laugh. 

The girls bumped into one another and nearly knocked a table onto its side...and they didn’t seem as though they were even drunk. Fun – they enjoyed the time they were having and everyone could tell it. 

He liked that. He liked how the atmosphere and her presence made him feel. It seemed as though Hop took well to being unnerved, which was a revelation unto itself. This casual Friday had turned into a night of revelations.

After they left the mini stage and sat down, Jim averted his view elsewhere and lifted the worn rancher from his head. A single hand ran through his hair until, “Hey Chief, you doin’ okay?” 

“Hmm...what?” 

“You look like you’ve spotted the ghost of a karaoke party, Hop. Wanna know if you’re alright is all.” 

Nick rubbed a wet hand into the damp, stained towel that was tossed atop his right shoulder; he waited on his friend patiently – “Yeah, yeah, I’m sunshine and rainbows. Just...give me two more, Nicky. Was a long week and I could use it.”

“You got it, Chief.”

†

As the next two hours passed by, Charlie and Gwen periodically took charge of the jukebox and karaoke machine. From Pat Benatar to The Cars and a few tracks off of David Bowie’s greatest hits, they pulled no vocal punches and reveled in the Friday night they had planned for.

But now they were parked once more on their high chairs and ready to close the night out. 2 a.m. loomed on the horizon and it wouldn’t be long before everyone was told that they _‘didn’t have to go home but they couldn’t stay here.’_ Charlie had sobered during the last few hours and despite how carefree their concert adventures and socializing was, and had been, she was tired and wanted to dive booty-first into her bed. 

“He keeps looking at you, ya know...” 

Pete angled himself and then rested his chin onto Charlie’s shoulder, “The Boss of Cops. Every time you sang or danced tonight, his eyes were glued to you like Bambi caught in a hunter’s headlights!”

Charlie roiled with laughter at his botched retelling of a classic catchphrase and then patted Pete’s other cheek, “You’re seeing things, my friend. Hopper looks drunk off his boots right now and wouldn’t see me if I stood right in front of him naked and booped him on the nose.” 

“Bet you’d like to do that, too, huh...” 

Charlie sighed as Pete pushed off of the stool beside her, his hands raised to either side of his head, “Alright, alright. No harm, no foul. Though, as Hawkins’ newest officer of the law, I’d recommend you check on your guy–check on the Chief, ‘scuse me–because he’s way too many sheets to the wind to drive home. Odd, too, because he doesn’t normally drink so much.” 

Charlie shifted and leaned forward inconspicuously, and then looked down the bar to Jim at the tail end. He was hunched forward, the weight of his head made it droop listlessly, barely held up by each of his shoulders. His hat was off and his hair was wildly unkempt; to anyone who didn’t know him, you’d have thought he was asleep sat upward. And Charlie surmised that was precisely what had occurred. 

An idea struck her at that very moment; as she paused to consider his full disheveled and drunken condition _and_ what Pete said about his unusual behavior with the drink on this night, Charlie made up her mind. 

For all that, she wondered still if something had happened to cause Hop to abnormally carry on with the alcohol – whatever that meant for him – or if it was a special occasion she didn’t know of. That likely no one knew about. He was a private man, by every account she’d seen thus far. 

Either way, she wouldn’t allow him to remain in this state and get behind the wheel of his work truck. Not a chance in hell. 

“Hey Pete, can you give Gwen a ride back to the apartment? Gwen, can I borrow your car to take Hopper home?” 

Pete’s jaw dropped straight down – the damn thing nearly touched his collarbone – as he nodded in affirmation but Charlie tilted hers back and offered a stern expression in return. She needed to get ahead of this **thing** again, “Listen, yes, it sure does sound like someone’s got the hots for James Hopper, _Pete_...but it ain’t me. He just needs a safe ride home. That’s it.”

Both Gwen and Pete agreed that this spontaneous plan was the safest for all parties involved, and that she ultimately made the best choice. The trio hugged shortly thereafter; they each were more interested in getting home and out of their Friday night attire than they wanted to see Charlie and Hopper leave the bar in the same vehicle. 

And so off Pete and Gwen went; Charlie waited for her cousin and friend to exit the ‘House and then she quietly placed a few extra dollars onto the bar-top as a thank you gesture for the unnecessary happenings from earlier on. 

Nick acknowledged Cooper’s appreciation but tried to push the cash back towards her nonetheless. Charlie politely refused and eased away with a showy grin and both hands pressed against her heart in a gesture of gratitude. 

She was still the new girl in town and wanted to form positive, reinforced relationships with as many as she could manage. Nick was receptive and warm and that was a great start. 

After their brief exchange, she trekked onward to Jim. 

She hoped he’d be as equally amenable as the bartender had been, but wasn’t as confident going into this particular conversation. Regardless, she wasn’t primed to offer any additional options and so if he declined her, she’d just stay with him until he was sober enough to go home on his own.

If he got mad, he’d eventually get glad.

Charlie Cooper was a resourceful woman and no inebriated man would change that. No matter if said man had the deepest blue eyes and sexiest ass in a tan uniform she’d ever seen...not even the mental real estate he’d occupied this past week would stop her from doing what needed to be done.

As she approached, Cooper looked at him – really _looked_ at him – he was a big man; even hunched forward and deflated by the drink, Jim Hopper appeared strong and thick in all the right places. His legs were long and lean, his feet big and wide, and the little part of his tummy that laid above a broken-in belt had Charlie lost to a fantasy more than she’d willfully admit. 

And so there he was, seated in a drunken haze, with those **sizable** hands drooped down beneath his chin. She noticed that Hop’s forehead laid flat onto his jacket’s cuffs as two restless legs bounced distractedly; they were spread in a v-shape and sat atop inadequate stool supports – Charlie knew that at any moment the chair might succumb to his bulk and she winced at the idea of it. 

She needed to get him out of here and home. Soon. 

Cooper placed a palm onto the rear of his neck and rubbed high and low, slowly, her movements kept local that one area; not enough applied pressure to jar the man but rather _just_ enough to let him know someone required his attention. 

“Hey, Chief. It’s Coop. I’m gonna take you home, okay?” 

From across the bar-top, Nicky wiped languidly at a tumbler and smiled at the young woman’s assertive actions. He suspected that this town, and Hopper, definitely needed whatever this girl had. Before he could admire her anymore, the police chief came to.

"Hmm...wha?” arose a garbled, confused response as Jim lifted his head to one side and opened a single bloodshot eye to the person who startled him.

“I said you’re coming with me, cowboy. C’mon, let me help you up and get you out of that chair.” 

Hopper’s torso went upright at that and his head whipped from one side to the next, “N-no, nno, I’m good. I can dri-drive. I’mmkay.” 

“Absolutely. I know you _can_ drive, you’re just not allowed to drive right now. Don’t fight with me, bossman. I already snatched your keys out of your pocket, which you didn’t notice whatsoever for the record, and seeing as I have a general idea of where you live, it’s time to get moving. Bar’s closed. No come on, up you go.” 

Hopper stumbled off the high seat and stood erect in a janky series of motions, and after, his arms dangled for a moment before they went skyward in a muscle-weakening stretch. His eyes slammed shut at that; it must have felt heavenly, because he smiled and sighed as he went about it, despite the fact that he hadn’t moved any farther than off the stool. 

Charlie had another thought; she paused to look around at the nearly-emptied Salt House first, and then promptly looped an arm around Hopper’s waist. She placed one of his own around her shoulders and held onto the hand that rested against her bicep; from there, she urged him to walk on with a gentle squeeze of his side. 

He chuckled at that and then gazed down at the girl latched to his side, “’Mm tickl-ish...” 

A surprised laugh boomed from somewhere in the depths of Charlie’s belly and it, in turn, caused his own laughter to halt in its tracks; he watched her with eyes that almost appeared to glitter in the dim lighting of their surrounding space. As though he were mesmerized by all that she was to him right in this moment. 

_’It’s the drink, Cooper, nothing more. Just glassy eyes from all that beer, that’s all.’_

“Come along, Chief. It’s getting late and you need to sleep this off.” 

“See you, Jim. See ya, Charlie! Don’t be a stranger around these parts, ok?” Nick yelled from the other end of the bar where he continued to rinse, dry and stow away cleaned dishes and the like. 

“You got it. Good meeting you!” Charlie called out, while Hopper barely lifted his arm high enough for a proper wave farewell. 

Once outside and into the cool, crisp night air, Charlie saw Gwen’s truck and set course towards it. Slow and steady, one step at a time, they made their way; she corrected his balance when it needed correcting and stopped here and there for him to burp or the occasional friendly goodbye, but ultimately, they kept on. 

“Almost there, Hopper.” 

“Ji-m. You ca-can call m-me, Jimmkay?” 

“I can call you Jimmkay?” 

Hop laughed suddenly – a laugh so loud powerful hard at Charlie’s thrown-back comment that he pitched forward and came within a foot of his face forever indented into the blacktop. 

“Easy there, Chie-I mean, Jim! Let’s not earn yourself a hospital visit tonight. I wanna sleep without worrying about you getting brain damage.” 

“Nah, I’m good-d. You-you’re jus’ fu-funny.” 

“Mmmhmm, and we’re at the pickup so let’s be funny in there together, alright?” 

Jim raised an eyebrow at what was, to him at least, a blatantly suggestive comment; Charlie snorted as she unwound her body from his and unlocked the passenger side door. “Oh hush, you. None of that. Now, hop up there.” 

He pinched his brow and adjusted his hat – it must have been put onto his head at some point – and then heaved his person upward and into the leather bench seat. Once inside, he threw his rancher onto the dashboard and let his head fall back as far as it was able. 

“Good, get some rest. We’ll be home before you know it.” 

“Can...n’t sleep yet. How’do you know wh-where I live? Can’I ssmoke?” Hopper turned his view onto her and watched as the truck came to life and the headlights bathed the darkness out ahead of them in a dull white. It partly illuminated the street ahead and showed how completely still and lonely this town could be after twilight ended. 

The long night was on its way and with the sky painted black all around them, the first stirrings of Autumn had arrived. As the leaves fell and drifted in the quiet breeze outside, Hopper remembered when he was a kid and would jump from one crunchy leaf to the next, the sound emitted both satisfactory and cruel at the same time. 

“No smoking, please. I appreciate you asking. I don’t mind that folks smoke, but I don’t and don’t like the smell or that residual taste in the air afterwards.” 

“Cop-ee that, Coop.”

The drive went on in silence for a stretch until they came to one of the few red lights this far out from the main line. His hand slipped off of his thigh and she looked over at it, an indication that he might have finally passed out. 

Nope. 

“Thank you, Coop, f-for taking good care’a me. I usually jus’ sleep it...sleep in the truck and go’home in the mornin’ but...” 

“It’s no problem, really. I’m happy to help you, Chief. I mean, Jim.” 

As though she had done it a thousand times prior, she reached across the seat and grabbed his hand; their fingers were woven and intertwined so naturally, she almost believed they’d been doing this for years. It was the most intimate gesture they shared up to that point and it was equally nerve-wrecking and electrifying all at once. 

At the unexpected contact, his head peeled off the back rest as he directed his gaze down to see. Hopper uttered no words, but squeezed just a length tighter after he saw; Charlie didn’t know if it was from drunk, uncontrollable reflexes or a need for connection or gratitude, but either way, she was unnerved by how good it felt to touch him.

Wondered if he thought similarly... 

It was so simple, everything in this space with him – just her hand in his - but this wasn’t why she moved to Hawkins. Wasn’t the way she wanted to restart her life. Cooper didn’t _want_ a new relationship, least of which one with her boss and the damn Chief of Police in this foreign town.

Every one of these thoughts submerged her into a momentary lapse of self-doubt and guilt; she didn’t wish for the emotions she felt to flee, but didn’t want to explore them any further, either. Charlie was in a battle and guessed it would only get more intense as the days and weeks wore on, but tonight wasn’t the time or place to analyze any measure of it. 

It was a hand-hold moment. Nothing more, nothing less. 

The light on the windshield morphed from a bright crimson to a holly green and with it, she gently slid her hand out of his; both were returned to the steering wheel and at the same time, they each fell into a quiet that was heavy by the weight of unsaid words. 

What those words were she could only surmise, but in her mind, it was about what she needed to do versus what she wanted to do. Or maybe it was something else entirely. Charlie was confused and tired and more than a lot ready for her comfortable bed and cozy pinstripe pajamas. 

“We’re alm-osst there. Turn l-left at the next turn and that’ssme.”

Charlie nodded and inwardly prided herself on how well she knew Hawkins’ grid already. Granted, she did live with Flo’s daughter and Flo and Gwen knew everyone and everything but regardless, she felt confident with her locational skills headed into Monday. 

“How are you feeling, Jim?” Charlie asked this as she parked the truck right out front of his trailer home. There was a single light on from the inside, but everything else was shrouded in the void of a moonless night. 

“Mmmkay.” 

“Good, good. Let’s get you in and out of these smoky clothes.” 

He held his hand high at that as he reached for his hat and found himself snagged on the seatbelt. 

“Wha in the...?” 

Charlie giggled and then reached to unbuckle him, “I buckled you in when you first got into the truck. Safety first, ya know.” 

Hopper swallowed and grinned at her; there was something there, so quick, something that she had glimpsed in that look – a thing meaningful and bare and honest. All traits she was told James Hopper didn’t possess. That look changed into _more_; in her belly there was a burst, as if a swarm of butterflies took to the edges and walls of her insides; they flitted and fluttered about without so much as a care as to what it might cause inside of her. 

“You ‘kay, Coop?”

She returned to herself and nodded before she exited the pickup and rounded the backend to get to him. By the time she arrived, Hopper had opened the door and eased himself out, his hands busy in a search for his house keys. 

“Looking for these?” 

A small metal ring with a few keys jingle-jangled in front of his face and he smirked, “You r-eally did swipe ‘em, didn’t ya?” 

“I sure did. Bet I can guess which is the house key, too.” 

“Ohhh...we’re playin’ games now, huh?” 

“Nah, I’m just good at knowing things.” 

True to her bet, Charlie unlocked his door – though it hadn’t been locked to start with – and the pair of them entered the tiny living space one after the other. “Thanks, Charlie. I think I got’t from here.” 

“Oh no, I’m seeing you to the bed, Sir. I’m not leaving until I know you’re comfortable and settled. So, bed or couch? Looks like the couch sees a lot of wear. There then?” 

She peered around his home as she waited for a reply; truth be told, she was deeply curious about this man, despite the inward protestations to leave this _crush_ she harbored for him alone. If she didn’t incite the fire, it wouldn’t burn her to pieces. Facts are facts. 

Despite the inner chatter, she took it in: a colorful drawing created by a child was taped to a wall – this was something she now longed to know anything about: who was the picture of? Who was the tiny artist? Then there were the empty beer cans and pill bottles strewn about that rapidly instilled a fear in her far more intense than she was entitled to. This place was not a happy one, but being here filled in more of the image she had begun to build of this person and his life outside of the PD. 

“Bed.” 

She turned to him then and found his eyes bored into hers, “You asked… bed or couch. Bed. You can go, whenever.” 

Hopper sounded less slurred which was better overall, but Charlie was worried he had seen her leering about the place. “Bed it is. Lead the way.” 

He shook his head and then turned towards the section farthest from where they currently stood.

Cooper followed Jim down the short corridor to his bedroom and watched as he sat down on the edge of an old, thin mattress – and pause. His head swayed there for a minute or so and then he breathed deeply and ran a hand across his face. 

It appeared as though he was about to say something or maybe thank her for a second time when Charlie knelt down in between his knees and began to unlace his boots. She started with his left first, her work methodical and precise; Cooper hoisted his limb and then slipped the boot off heel-first before the pattern was repeated on his right side. 

Silenced. James Hopper was stunned into absolute silence. 

As she was right there, positioned between his legs and so close to him – so near, in fact, that her scent, which was a mixture of fresh linen and bar smoke, dizzied his mind into a state of euphoria. He breathed her in, and reveled in whatever this was, but did not make a single move on her. 

No one could have predicted that _this_ was what she meant when she mentioned wanting him settled for the night. Where his brain would typically view this act of affection as an invitation to fuck, he knew it wasn’t that. It was...more. Went beyond the intimacy of sex and into a territory that he seldom believed was real these days. 

“You don’t have to do this–“ 

“Pssh, I know I don’t have to. But I am, so let me.” 

Once she finished, she stopped and stared at him from her vantage point; still situated between and in front of his knees, they each stared at one another before she broke the stillness with the sound of his zipper. His jacket zipper. 

She slowly undid the light-weather zip-up and eased one arm through at a time. She folded and placed it onto a cluttered chair in the corner of his bedroom but not before something dropped out of it and hit the wooden floor with a dull **clank**. 

“Oops, sorry Chief. I’ll get that.” 

She retrieved a well-packaged object and held it out for him to take. He grabbed it and smirked and then handed it back to her, “Can you put that on my dresser? It’s your shield but I can’t give it to you until uhhh...Monday, yeah, Monday.” 

Charlie gripped the wrapped badge and wanted so desperately to tear open the plastic and foam trappings. She smiled her Charlie Cooper thousand-watt smile and held it to her heart for a quick beat, then set it down onto a bare part of his clothes dresser. 

“Awe...I mm-missed’it.” 

Charlie shifted around and then took a seat at the foot of his bed, “What’s that? You missed what?” 

His eyes were shut and his hands remained still as they rested on his chest – by the look of it, Hopper had passed out for real this time. 

Charlie stood and tapped his thigh lightly, “See you Monday, Chief.” She whispered the words but they were just loud enough. It brought him to consciousness again and he watched as she made to leave. 

Nearly at the bedroom doorway, she stopped immediately as she heard Hop mumble, “Your...s’smile. You smiled at’ta shield, not me. I miss’d it. I l-love’at smile, ‘oop.” 

Charlie’s spine faced Jim as he said what he said, and it left her frozen in that sensible pair of flats. She lingered there for so long that she heard him begin to snore, his sleep deepened so much already that it truly wouldn’t have mattered if she stayed or went – he wouldn’t have known either way. 

She stole one last look over her shoulder and grinned again; he loved her smile? _Loved_ it? 

_’Oh, Charlie-girl, you’re in for it now.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH for your patience! What a crazy insane nutty month it's been. Real life is *hard* and struggling with a sick parent (who's on the mend, post-massive surgery 2 weeks ago!) and work and family is no cakewalk! Thanks for sticking with me – I hope this lengthy chapter was worth the wait *wink*
> 
> So much more to come xx
> 
> PS – I'm putting together a soundtrack AND a score for this fic – if interested, please let me know and I'll get the lists posted here (& Tumblr!).
> 
> [10/10/19 UPDATE: Chapter 7 is on the way! Thanks for hanging in – family obligations and Autumn activities are in full swing!]


	7. Of Habits & Vices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saturday's are for hangovers and awkward, tense moments between new friends...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being so so patient. To be completely real, I have a very sick parent at the moment and finding the time and consistency to write the last 5+ weeks has been slim to none. That said, it's now November and we all know what that means... NANOWRIMO. So everyday I'll be writing so the chapters will now start to flow. 
> 
> Again, thank you for the patience – means the world. Just like Hopper & Charlie. ;)

Hopper’s sleep-laden eyes came apart slowly; it took a few moments before two ocean-blues could rise near enough to the surface to sense the light. 

And light there was. 

Jim's tiny sleeping space was bathed in vivid early-morning hues; it was a visual symphony of purple, orange and pink, as each color rose and fell below the horizon in a perfect, seamless fashion. Each shade mixed into a single gradient, as vibrant patterns danced and washed over bare, yellow-tinted walls sick from cigarette smoke. As every fractal bounced off of the lakeside water and into his empty bedroom, the light shimmered and pierced his heavy-lidded eyes. Hopper groaned. 

The curtains clearly hadn’t been drawn the night prior and now that he contemplated this current situation, he didn’t really recall much of Friday evening other than...Charlie? Had Charlie done something to him? Or for him? Maybe _with_ him? 

The very confused, hungover man grumbled a very tired, hungover sound as he crashed a pillow on top of his face in annoyance. After his measures to block the risen sun proved mostly successful, he dug a fist into the lumpy mass of misshapen fluff as a wave of nausea flooded his belly with unease and regret. 

Unease because he imbibed far more than his normal beer-in weekend routine and regret because...well, that he wasn’t too sure about still. _Something_ was different, or rather, something felt...uncertain.

Another throaty rumble bubbled up and out of him as he pushed aside the soft object that obstructed his view; while he had no conscious desire to behold the brightness of day – and certainly no want whatsoever to move any part of him – his body pulsated from the inside out with unavoidable alarm bells. 

Hopper needed to use the bathroom and needed to use it _now._

As heavy legs shifted around to settle on the edge of an ancient mattress, Jim noticed that the boots he had worn yesterday were...off. Not only that, but they were untied and placed neatly beneath his bed-frame. His jacket, like his footwear, had also been folded and set down in a careful manner with which he’d never have done himself. 

Paused, the Chief sat in silence as he fought to remember any events at The Salt House beyond the first few rounds of drinks. Motionless and brought to a standstill by memories clear and memories faded, he found he could do nothing more than curse the emptied lagers to the fiery depths of an obviously forgotten hell. 

But. 

Something in his gut – his extremely disturbed and fiercely riled-up gut – told him that he _wanted_ to remember. That these lost moments he couldn't pull from the hazy shroud of drunkenness might prove to be a welcomed thing. If only he could bring it all back. 

But the bell that tolled in his equator was incessant and his body once again demanded its release. Jim was forced to cease all mental activities and focus on the urgency of his present – and right here and now he needed to piss. 

_’Alright, alright. I’m goin’, 'M'goin’.’_

After he conjured enough strength to stand upright, Jim's unsteadied form bobbled and pitched forward a spell; his pulse boomed and banged within the depths of his eardrums, but the sound was an added and inspired motivation. Either he moved or his body would ultimately do what needed to be done. 

So onward Hop trekked, out of the bedroom and through a short hallway before he threw the washroom door wide and stumbled into the enclosed, messy space. 

His fingers crawled along the edge of a cluttered sink, which was followed not too long after by a clash of plastic and aluminum. And just as they existed in his living room, there, laid out for anyone to see, was another group of half-finished pill bottles, hollowed beer cans and an empty cigarette pack. 

It was a cluttered tell to his habits and vices - a visual collective he never willfully or actively acknowledged. Jim didn't mind their presence, per se, but rather knew that even the regular sight of those bits and broken pieces confirmed that every dark day he's endured since New York City was real. And that, well that was overwhelmingly unwelcome. 

In any case, Jim knew he’d have to clean sometime over the course of the weekend but not at this very moment. Truth be told, it was a low priority compared to the relief that soared through his system at current: he did his business with a sigh and a smile, cleansed his hands and bumbled back to the comforts of the ragged, unkempt bed.

He fell onto the mattress and listened to the squeals and squeaks of metal as the frame bent from pressure. Everything was cheap and old in his trailer, including the trailer itself, but Hopper never minded; if he got four hours of sleep a night, that was a good night's sleep. Ever since Sara's... ever since he moved back to Hawkins, a restful rest became nothing more than a distant memory. 

But Sara. His girl. 

The ache in his heart began to swallow him whole as her little face appeared at the forefront of his thoughts. Sometimes when this happened – and it did happen quite often still, always – Hopper wished he could drown, slip away, or vanish like the wraith he'd become. The loss of his daughter was too great and all those pills and all that booze couldn't fill the gaping wound that lived in the center of his chest. 

Hopper allowed the tears to fall as he rolled onto his left side; the bed adjusted itself, again, with clangs and creaks but it wasn't loud enough to rip him from the nightmarish reverie he was prisoner to. 

The air left his lungs through unsteady lips – a breath he didn't realize had been trapped for so long seeped out; his eyes fell closed from an exhaustion of this weight – a forever type of weight. 

Thankfully, however, it was a Saturday and that meant he had fewer things to do than even on the days when he actually had just about anything else going on. Sleep was the lone to-do he wished so deeply for right now. The only thing worth a damn whenever the phantoms of his previous life came to haunt.

Despite everything, and even as a ghost himself, lately Hop had begun to sense an awareness – as though he were being semi-subconsciously steered towards something...unexpected. 

Hopper's blues reopened but he opted against an exodus just yet, instead he looked to his bedroom dresser to find the neatly wrapped and protected shield: Charlie's badge. 

The first and last time he had seen it, Jim stashed the bulky package into his jacket pocket for safe-keeping. But here, it was placed ever-so on top of his furniture – which was exactly _not_ in his inner pocket like he last remembered it. It was securely taped still and didn't appear as if it were tampered with but...he had questions nonetheless. So many questions popped into his brain, like animated thought bubbles in a comic book, with each one vying for his attention. 

One of those thought bubbles was far louder than the others: Cooper? 

Was Charlie responsible for the folded clothes, neatly arranged boots and gently placed shield? Or had it been someone else entirely? He thought quickly of Marissa and wondered if she had shown up at the bar last night, but couldn't remember one way or the other. No matter. Marissa had been a notch – a pill, a hollow beer can. 

As Jim laid fully immersed into these meanderings, tiny thread-like tendrils of remorse creeped around inside of him; whenever he thought of that woman in such uncouth terms – or any of his former lovers – he understood how rude of a practice it really was. Regardless, facts were just that: facts. 

In any case, Marissa soon realized the error of her ways and moved on after his cold shoulder proved to be a bit too icy for her. Some women were okay with the flippant, non-committal dance that's often associated with more youthful groups, but most were not. Marissa, it turned out, was part of the latter group. 

Few truths were more difficult than those Jim determined to be the best for his particular brand – no matter how often they may have affected the people in and around his day to day. 

It was no secret that he'd blazed a small trail of bruised hearts and spurned egos both within and outside of Hawkins' city limits. Of course, nothing was so serious as to warrant anything worse than a stern talking-to or dismissive look every once and awhile. So it **was** a possibility that Marissa might have come to his rescue in such a drunken stupor...but his intuition immediately refuted that. It simply wasn't logical, or plausible really, given how she had ended things with him. 

That there must be anoth-

The echo of Jim's rotary telephone filled his entire space in short order, and the mental rabbit hole he’d been following suddenly disappeared as a result. He cursed into the pillow, smashed his nose down onto it and shrouded his head with a navy-blue, well-worn comforter. 

"Nooooo...shut the hell UP," Hopper yelled, to no one and everyone at the same time. The last thing he needed, or wanted, was attention. The inebriated haziness hadn't lessened, his belly hummed with a wicked queasiness and his recollection for _any_thing that happened last night hovered right around the slim to none mark. 

Sleep. Hopper wanted to sleep. Longed for sleep. _Desired_ hours and hours of sleep. 

The incessant noise eventually ceased but the blanket was not hastily removed; in the minutes after the ringer stopped, his mind dove back down into the fray as images from roughly six to eight hours ago fought to breach the surface. He'd been in this spot many, many times in the past but Hopper couldn't shake the unfamiliar sensation that _something_ significant happened, regardless of how little he could actually recollect.

A lone eye peeked out from beneath the covers and gazed at the folded jacket. After, it roamed onward to the reverentially-placed badge and absorbed the scene surroundings for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning. 

He pondered the objects he could see from this vantage point but also the boots that sat below his person. Out of seemingly nowhere, a flashback seared through him, as though he had grabbed ahold of a live-wire with his bare hands: Charlie. 

It was Charlie in his head, just there, knelt between languid, useless legs – well, not quite between but close enough to...to stir a primal and wanton need inside of him. 

It was...Charlie taking his jacket off one arm at a time. Charlie unlacing his boots, laying him down. Cooper did that. And he saw it so clearly now – had found and felt it returned to him like the roll of waves as they crashed onto a starved shoreline. 

It _had_ been her last night. Not Marissa, not anyone else. 

Hopper let free a guttural groan as a fire birthed within steadily began to grow. As the roar of these truths rumbled and rose up, Jim's body began to boil beneath the thick, cumbersome blanket. It was as though his skin were set alight and every length of fabric, every touch of the sheet and comforter was a brush with torture itself. 

Unable to sustain another second of this hotbox, he threw the hellish layers aside and looked south to find his body partially slick with sweat. Wily strands of hair appeared to be glued to his forehead, his shirt was molded to his torso and his pants...well, those were suddenly far too tight in all the wrong places. 

He felt ill...no, not sick – scared. 

But ill, too. Unease, unsettled, uncertain. And none of it made sense. Panic began to set in. 

The mattress quaked and protested as Hopper fell off of it only to land abruptly on his flimsy, threadbare carpet. In this hastened attempt to race to the bathroom again, he found himself at odds with gravity and gravity was absolutely winning. 

Each of his knees cracked and popped as they adjusted and readjusted to the abrupt, hard surface; he tilted forward in a rushed mess of movement until his palms met the aged flooring just as his other limbs had. 

Vulnerable and positioned on all fours, Hopper heaved and sucked for any air; unable to catch his breath fast enough, he crawled into the washroom, lifted toilet lid and expelled every last bit of his stomach contents. 

After what felt like an hour, Hopper sat back against the bathroom wall, flushed the sick from his pulpy throat and wiped a washcloth across foul-scented lips. 

_'Ugh...what the f-fuck.'_

Hop berated his body for its harsh revolt and wished so completely that the ground could somehow pull him right down into it, one limb at a time. Extract him from this land of foreign territories and undo all that happened last night. As every part of Jim's being hummed with discomfort and discombobulation, those were the only thoughts now: Regret and wishfulness. 

None of this – the sudden panic attack, the vomiting, the unease – was normal. And what was worse, he couldn't figure out what or ultimately where it stemmed from. Was it the Friday-night libations? Was it the girl that seemed to fully consume his mind as of late? Or was it something else entirely – maybe a nasty episode of who-knows-what that would last god-knows-how-long. 

Jim pondered that and more as he remained lame, laid out on top of the bathroom floor like a fish thrown from water. His form slid down the faded wallpaper until his back pressed into chipped linoleum; he huffed and exhaled as his eyes closed and legs stretched out beyond the frame of the door. 

Just as he settled into this semi-comfortable position, a series of knocks pelted his front entranceway, his unintentional respite cut short. 

"Now what...'the hell is–_ugh_–this?" Jim grumbled as he rose up and away from the ground; his voice bounced off the hollow walls of his trailer as he stumbled from point A to point B, which was the door. 

Once arrived, he swung it open and cursed the bright light of the sunshiny day as it pierced his dilated pupils. "Oh for fuc–"

"Hey there, Chief. Good morning. Doing okay today...I see." 

Cooper stood there in her Saturday casuals and took in Hopper's disposition from north to south; he was disheveled, dressed in the same clothes as he had been last night and didn't exactly smell too great either. Still, he was stood upright and seemed as though he had his wits about him, which was all she hoped to find. 

"Coop. You're...here?" 

Charlie smiled, dropped her head and bit her bottom lip, "In the flesh, yes. Again. I'm just dropping your Chevy off. I snaked the keys last night from your pocket, though I'm sure you don't recall, and then had Gwen drop me off at the Salt House this morning to drive your Blazer back. And now you're all caught up." 

Hopper nodded, his mouth agape and eyes focused so intently on every word Charlie said that she couldn't help but laugh at the sight. "Alright, alright. You're in no shape for company but if you don't mind it, can I borrow your phone to call Perry? She's gonna need to pick me up." 

"Perry?" 

Cooper snuffed out a giggle before, "Gwen. Gwen Perry. As in Florence Perry's daug–"

"Yeah, yeah I get it. Come in. Sun is burnin' my eyes and it's too...fresh outside or...something." 

Charlie's lithe form shimmied past Hopper as he held the door open for her; she pursed her lips as she went, eyebrows raised in a most comical way, "I get that but...you could do for some fresh air in here, boss." 

"Hmm?" 

"No, nothing never mind. Where's your phone?" 

He aimed over towards a cluttered end table and then promptly fell onto his couch in a mess of fluid motion – an action that screamed 'Tired.' Charlie dialed her home number, waited on her friend to answer and then put in a friendly request to be retrieved from Hopper's. 

"Yeah. Yeah. No..._no!_ Hush Gwen, just get here whenever. And thanks for doing me a solid. I owe you one." 

After she placed the telephone back onto its base, she turned around to see Hopper laid out, seemingly asleep on row of flattened cushions. There was a recliner off to the left she could reasonably occupy for the time being, but it was covered with used newspapers, empty cigarette packs and the occasional plastic fork and spoon. 

After all options had been quickly considered, she hovered over him and whispered, "I'm gonna go wait outside. That hangover of yours is gnarly and the last thing you need is any company. So I'll see you Monday, Chief. Feel better in the meantime." 

As Cooper trekked past Hopper, both blues shot open and his upper body followed suit; he rose up, rolled his shoulders and inhaled a hearty, long gulp of the acrid, thick air that almost always filled his trailer these days. "Coop, you don't have to wait outside. It's chilly already and besides, you did me a favor bringing the truck back. You hungry? I can make eggs or...coffee." 

Charlie briefly thought to take him up on the offer but didn't want to put him to work in his current sloth-like state. "How about I make _you_ eggs and coffee instead?" 

She countered and watched as Hop's head tilted from side to side as his hands began to fidget on top of two semi-bouncing knees. If there was anything she had learned about this mysterious man already, it was that people did not typically look after him. 

Between their quiet, almost intimate, moment last night in the bedroom as she helped him to sleep and now whatever _this was_ this morning, she concluded that it was likely not his norm. But something within spoke loudly enough to her – a warning in a sense – to not expect all that much from him in such uncharted, unexplored oceans. 

"Uh..." Hopper didn't reply but instead took that time to look around his living room; everything was a collective mess with piles of this and that strewn about from here to there. He gazed at each with disdain and embarrassment before he settled onto the faded child's drawing that was scotch-taped to the rear wall. 

He struggled to swallow for a moment and then allowed his head to droop ever so slightly. 

Charlie followed her bosses vision-trail as he roamed each section of his humble living; once again she found her attention pulled to that colorful work of art and her mind wandered. It was lovely piece and so very vivid but a curiousness surrounded it. It seemed equal parts out place and yet very well protected at the same time.

"Hop?"

Hopper had stood in the time it had taken for her to study the artwork and was now just a few steps away. "I think...you should go wait for Gwen outside. I uh, I need to get a shower and some more sleep." 

Charlie reached outward to grasp his bicep at that sudden dismissal and change of tone – she didn't know why her instincts yelled at her to do that and yet they did – and Jim immediately flinched and moved out of range as a response. 

"Did I do something wrong?" 

Charlie inwardly cursed her self-shaming tendencies and then straightened her neck and spine as she quickly reassessed the situation. He shut her out – from what, she didn't know – but Hopper was a Road Closure and it was time to turn around and go back from whence she came. 

Only problem: The exit was behind Hopper so in order to get to the door, she needed to go around him. And in the time it had taken to process this new, weird situation, an awkward silence filled the space between their motionless bodies. He stared through her as countless, indecipherable emotions rolled off of him like the swell of waves on storm-battled seas. 

Cooper realized then that this early Saturday visit had birthed far more questions about this person than she had any right to reserve; given that they had only known each other for a handful of days, this fact alone had her moderately unsettled. Nevertheless, facts remained facts and her mind yearned for _his_ truth, specifically. She longed to discover every single bit of who he was up to the precise moment – this moment where such high walls and strong boundaries manifested out of absolutely nowhere. 

"Uh, no. No it's not that. It's–I just think it's time for you to go. Thanks again, Cooper. See you on Monday for your first shift." 

His piercing glare had finally broken and as it did, Jim side-stepped made a janky break towards the entrance. 

For the first time in this short interactions with one another, Charlie felt uncomfortable in his presence – a feeling similar to the cold shoulder but...worse? It was almost as if she had been intentionally, strangely pushed away for no rhyme or reason. Like a switch had flipped and in a single instant he'd gone from welcoming and warm to cold and closed. 

"Okay, yeah good. So, I'll see you Monday afternoon. Take care, Chief." 

Cooper wanted to ask what had happened and so much inside of her screamed for the opportunity to do just that. So, as she stepped through the doorway and walked down a step, and then the next, she turned around with every intention of speaking up – but the look worn on his face brought an immediate sense of sadness and stopped her dead. 

Silence continued to expand as warmth seeped and ultimately succumbed to the frozen crevasse he'd created. 

Hop was there, in his disheveled, foul-scented bar clothes but he wasn't there at all, not really. Not in the way it mattered. He peered in her general direction but she knew – on some visceral level of knowing – that he saw nothing beyond the scope of an overwhelmed psyche. Various emotions were so plainly etched onto his features and yet, she could not make out a single one or what each one vied to tell her – to tell the world. 

That warning she'd heard earlier returned right then, like a bell that tolled far off in the distance – not with a bang and a crash but with great depth and slow purposeful tones. It was time to go and to _leave this be._

Which is exactly what she did. 

Once she reached the bottom step and subsequently walked onto an open patch of grass best described as his front "yard," Charlie wrapped her arms around her waist and started to mull. She didn't turn back, didn't want to know if he shut the door or was still standing there; she needed to process the sudden change of seasons that occurred in his trailer and just what might have been the cause. 

That big scene in his small living space jarred her in a way she hadn't experienced for quite some time. The former partner she was assigned to in Philly had routinely pulled something similar to the realm Hopper had touched on, but she had always known Kyle to be a creep – right from the get-go. In addition to being untrustworthy, unreliable and unsafe. Hopper had never once given off the vibes to suggest that he possessed either or any of those attributes, despite, again, the short time they've known one another – which was exactly why she felt so confused by it all. 

And the more she contemplated it, the more his dramatic 180-degree shift felt like a...trigger. 

As if something she had said or done, or perhaps seen, caused his personality to instantly upend. Whatever it was, it wasn’t insignificant and that in and of itself caused quite the disturbing thought: Could an event such as this ever occur whilst they were on duty and if so, might it spell trouble for any or all involved? 

She realized how much she didn't know about this person and that the steadfast whispers that urged her to remand her curiosities somehow knew...more. Charlie was grateful for those, regardless of how unfamiliar everything was – even the instincts themselves. 

While she paced the dry, brown-spotted patches of earth out front of his home, her mind ensconced in a cacophony of what-was and what-wasn’t, Hopper was dealing with his own demons in tandem. 

_’That was fucking cold, man. Go, go outside and I don’t know, apologize or something. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know a damn thing and it ain’t her fault. It’s your fault, ya jerk-off.’_

As the Chief grappled with the memories of Sara and how he mistreated Charlie – despite all she had done for him in the last ten or so hours – his feet had moved of their own accord and took him on a journey: a couple rows of aged pine creaked under his bulk and it ultimately found him brought back to the here and now. He gave himself a once-over, smelled the rough scent attached to his shirt and...cringed. He wanted to smack all traces of _rude_ right out of his bones but since that wasn’t an option, all he was left with was to try and make the situation a little less dire. 

Jim watched her for a spell first though, be it because he longed to find the right words for this woman he barely knew but somehow wanted to know – _’I do?’_ – or because he didn’t realize that he was swept up in the trance of Cooper once more. 

Every time he had seen her, she was nothing less than A Sight: Today her hair was pulled up in a tight ponytail like it had been during their interview, well, his interview with her, but her clothes were relaxed and comfortable. A pair of red and blue sneakers looked worn but not old and he knew just from their appearance that she ran – or rather, was a runner. Then there was the white-washed jean jacket with both cuffs intentionally left unbuttoned; a few of the glittery rhinestones were missing in action and their untimely absence told the tale of a younger version of this woman – one who had yet to be touched by darkness. It was as if this piece of wardrobe held on to a simpler time, a time prior to that shadow he’d glimpsed only for a second – just before she painted it away with that fantastic smile. 

Hopper wanted, no **needed** to understand this new person and that wouldn’t – and couldn’t – happen if he pushed her from his bubble before she had the chance to feel around its jagged, misshapen edges. 

It was now or never.

"I...I don't mean to be–it's just..." Hopper sighed and Charlie spun on both heels just in time to see his head fall and his chin land on the apex of his collarbone. 

"It's okay, Chief. Last night was rough and I'm sure you weren't expecting a stranger to drop in on you so early. You go in and do what you need to do, I'll be fine out here. Gwen won't take long, she's a speed demon...as I know you know." 

Cooper winked on that last bit and then shifted her torso to put him at her rear once more. The early morning breeze was chillier then she anticipated and Hopper was in the midst of something she could do little to assist with. 

Besides, she needed to think and he needed space. Regardless, she was grateful he had come outside and said…_something._

"Coop?" 

Charlie's eyes closed as a grateful smile leached another measurable amount of complex worry from her tight features, "Hmm?" she said, both feet planted firmly as her upper body turned in his direction. Again. 

He had walked the last few rungs and was poised at the base of the stairway, his hands wrapped around the aged wood railing, "Thank you, for last night and for the truck. I mean, I don't really know what you did, but I know you took...care of me and that–I uh, I appreciate that. And I'm...well, yeah, today and...yeah." 

The sound of crushed gravel and earth crept up behind her and she knew Gwen had arrived. 

"You don't have to thank me for that. I got to hold my shield, after all." 

Cooper shot a mischievous grin at him and then waved in a 'see you soon' sort of fashion before she hopped up and into the pickup's cab. 

As they drove off, Jim’s slumped, tired reflection watched them through Gwen’s rearview mirror and it was then, and only then, that Charlie was finally able to let the last shred of her guard down. 

"Gwen, I gotta ask you something about Hopper."

"Okay...first, you alright Charlie? You seem rattled. Did that Pig do something to you?" 

A snorted laugh escaped through pursed, surprised lips and Cooper palmed a knee at the thought, "No he didn't _do_ anything to me! Jeez, way to jump to conclusions. But...something did happen. I don't know what but I...there was a young child's drawing in his living room and he had this reaction, I think? So I'm curious: Does Jim have a kid...or an ex-wife?" 

Gwen turned away at that and focused her attention onto the road, "Ahh, I've heard about these infamous “Hopper's Walls.” Did he build one for you today?" 

Her head shook in utter confusion as she shifted in the seat to gain a better view of her cousin, "What?" 

"I told you last night, there's a _lot_ about Jim Hopper. But...does Jim have a kid and a wife? No. Did he? Yes." 

Charlie’s jaw fell marginally slack as she positioned her spine back into the fine nooks and crevasses of the truck’s cracked leather seat. This _was_ a lot, just like Perry said. 

"Oh."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12/28/19 UPDATE**** – Chapter 8 is on the way in the New Year! The end of 2019 was a bit of a bitch, if I'm being honest, but half of 8 is written and now that the holidays are winding down, I'll have MUCH more time to write. Thanks for the ridiculously amazing level of patience y'all have given me! xx

**Author's Note:**

> I aim to post at minimum 1x per week! This will be lengthy, angsty and I have a knack for breaking hearts and being ambiguous. 
> 
> More on the way...


End file.
